


Blue

by passive_and_aggressive



Series: Blue [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: A lot of Hurt, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Reverse, Android Gavin Reed, Android Hank Anderson, Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings, Human Alice Williams (Detroit: Become Human), Human Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Human Kara, Human Markus, Human RK900, Human Simon, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Minor Markus/Simon (Detroit: Become Human), Multi, no beta we die like men, reverse au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-20 00:48:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15522411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/passive_and_aggressive/pseuds/passive_and_aggressive
Summary: A reverse AU in which the officer Anderson brothers, Connor and 'Nines', are so wildly different and so painfully alike that nobody knows what to do, GV200 & HK800 are prototype gifts from the eccentric founder of CyberLife, Chloe Kamski, and nobody knows how to cope.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A trial run for a reverse au fic I was thinking about writing! A one-shot for now, but it may be expanded into a full-blown fic later on.
> 
> Unbeta'ed. We die like men.

**First Bullet**

**Original Upload Date: 08/01/2018**

 

Connor doesn’t remember what drink exactly he’s on as Jimmy refills his glass, but he does know that all he can smell is cigarette smoke and whisky, and as he tries to light his smoke his hands are shaking and his vision is blurry. After watching him down the spirits straight for the umpteenth time, Jimmy ignores his signal to fill the glass again.

“Jimmy, c’mon. Pour me another. In fact, make it a double.”

Jimmy, to his credit, only looks mildly disappointed in Connor’s existence. “Connor, I ain’t gonna turn away a paying customer, but you’ve drank enough. There are laws. You know that.”

With a flat look and a drag on his finally-lit cigarette, Connor coughed on the smoke that filled his lungs (damn that asthma) and shook his head. “Jimmy, Jimmy, I’m a _cop._ ‘M not a snitch. Pour me the drink.”

“No, Connor,” Jimmy insisted, running a hand through his dreadlocks. “Look, I can help you to the car. Or—”

The door swung open with a cheerful chime, and Jimmy’s face twisted into one of disdain. An android, designed to look the part of an older, grizzled man walked into his bar, complete with the blue triangle glowing on his uniform (which was not CyberLife standard; in fact, it looked like a normal suit, excluding the neon interface). Connor ignored the sight, too consumed with his cigarette, until the android stopped beside him.

“Hello, Lieutenant Anderson. My name is Hank. I’m the android sent by CyberLife.” It offered a hand to him, as if it wanted to shake his hand. Connor, buzz quickly wearing off, stared at the hand in complete shock.

“Who the fuck—” he broke off in a coughing fit, and Jimmy poured him a glass of water. Connor swallowed the contents and took a raspy breath before he finished, “Who the fuck’re you?”

The android’s LED circled blue slowly. “There are no hearing issues on your profile, Lieutenant, but I will repeat my statement. Hello, Lieutenant And—”

“No, stop, that isn’t what I meant,” Connor interrupted. “Why the fuck are you here? Didn’t you see the _no androids_ sign?”

A yellow LED greeted him. “I did, but I chose to prioritize my mission. We were assigned a case.”

“Oh, hell no. I’m not working with— with some _android,”_ Connor moaned, looking pleadingly at his bartender. Jimmy looked amused at Connor’s admittedly childish (intoxicated, more like) plea, though a bit irritated by the android in his bar. “Leave me alone, you plastic prick. Let me drown my sorrows in whiskey.”

“...Lieutenant, I really must insist,” The android (Connor vaguely remembered it introducing itself as Hank) said, with the gall to look remorseful. “How about a compromise? I’ll buy you a drink for the road.”

Connor actually didn’t believe what he was hearing. An android, offering to buy him a drink? Even Jimmy, android-hating Jimmy, laughed at the completely sincere offer. Wiping tears from his eyes, Jimmy added, “Y’know Connor, that’s the first time in a long time someone’s offered to buy _your_ pissy ass a drink!”

“Can it, Jimmy,” Connor muttered, but his head swam with a mix of confusion and a haze of alcohol. Granted, he could take his drink fairly well, so he wasn’t _drunk—_ buzzed, though, that was a different story. He rubbed his temples as the buzz started to fade and pointed at his glass. “Alright, you damn robot. Jimmy, make it a double. I’m sobering up too fast for this shit.”

 

* * *

 

Detective Richard ‘Nines’ Anderson analyzed the body with disdain. The android at his side, kneeling beside suspected murder weapon with the distant focus that meant it was scanning something, seemed to not pick up on his scorn— even without the android’s advanced vision, he could pick out the traces of red ice on the corpse— or perhaps it simply didn’t care, which was the more likely option.

For an android designed to hunt deviants, Nines thought dryly that the android— a GV200 with the registered name of ‘Gavin’— exhibited some peculiar behaviors. Chloe Kamski, however, was known for her… peculiar design quirks in her specialized models. To be completely honest, from the moment he heard of her ‘gifts’ he was half-expecting something like this. Her personalized android, the original RT600 ‘Elijah’, was the perfect trophy of this. It was, and had always been, a source of controversy. And of course, for saving her life (really, they didn't do much) she would gift the department only the 'best'.

Frankly, Nines didn’t care. He did his job, only his job, and personal feelings meant nothing. It did nothing to lessen the bitter taste in his mouth at the sight of a glowing LED, but unlike his fool of an elder brother, he didn’t drown his troubles with whisky and nicotine.

The dislike for this particular android, however, was increasing by the moment. Nines nearly gagged when Gavin dipped his fingers in the blood of the victim and placed his fingers in his mouth. Grasping the android by the collar of his police uniform, Nines hauled the robot away from the body.

“What the _hell_ are you doing?” He managed, feeling a little sick. Gavin’s fingers left his mouth with a wet pop (the noise disturbed Nines almost as much as the sight) and he said, “I was testing the blood. Ortiz, Carlos. 29. Unemployed. Criminal record includes theft and aggravated assault.” After a moment, LED circling a lazy yellow, Gavin added, “Trace amount of Thirium were also found. An HK400. No registered name. Registered to Ortiz.” At Nines’ surprised look, Gavin rolled his eyes. “I’m a walking crime lab, if you’ve already forgotten.”

“I hadn’t.” The info dump had simply been startling in it’s amount and unnerving in it’s frankness, and Nines paused a moment before he said, “I don’t want you putting anything else in your mouth without asking first. You might contaminate the crime scene.”

“Whatever,” Gavin responded noncommittally, and Nines wanted to bash his head into the wall. “Why are we even here, anyways, Detective Anderson? Isn’t Lieutenant Anderson assigned to this case?”

“Don’t call me Detective Anderson,” Nines snapped. “I don’t care if you call me Detective Richard or Detective Nines, but do not address me by my surname.”

Yellow LED, just a brief flicker before it turned blue. The android made a sneering face at him. “Oh, yeah? Touchy subject?”

“That was an order.”

The android’s eyes blinked rapidly as the order was processed, and with a grimace Gavin muttered, “I’ve registered the name change, _Nines.”_

A heavy exhale through his nose was Nines’ only sign of his irritation. “Whatever. You’re a self-proclaimed walking crime lab, so put it to use. Can you give me a time of death?”

“Oh, the great detective asking for help from an android?” Gavin snorted, but his eyes gained the distant look that told Nines he was analyzing something. “...more than nineteen days. Estimated time of death: October 17, 2038, 11:30 PM. Cause of death: massive internal bleeding, 28 stab wounds detected.”

“Somebody sure didn’t like him,” Nines muttered, intended to be a sardonic comment for his ears only. Gavin’s inhuman hearing, however, picked it up.

“No prints on the knife. Android involvement is likely.” Nines didn’t like the way Gavin watched his face, as if looking for a reaction. _The plastic prick read my files,_ Nines thought bitterly. But he was used to being watched, and Gavin seemed disappointed at his lack of reaction. “Be quiet for a minute.”

“You’re the one talking,” Nines interrupted. Reed snorted.

“Reporting. There’s a difference. Now shut up so I can reconstruct the scene.”

Intrigued, Nines did fall silent. However, it didn’t do much, since an idiot decided to waltz onto the scene at that particular moment. Nines’ lips curled in disgust as a man in a ratty DPD sweatshirt and reeking of a bar, followed by an android in the design of a grizzled older man, practically stumbled onto the scene.

“Scene reconstruction complete,” Gavin muttered, before studying the newest arrivals with scrutiny. “Connor… Anderson? You’ve got a brother?”

Rather than responding to the android, Nines chose to vent. “So you decided to finally show up, Connor?” Nines snapped, with a cool scowl directed at the shorter man. “I thought you were going to spend your night in the nearest bar, like always.”

“That was the plan, Nines, until this fucker tracked me down,” Connor retorted. Nines thought that he looked tired; there were dark circles under his eyes, and his hands shook as he twirled a lighter slowly through his fingers. A nervous tick he’d had since they were children, although when they were children it had been a coin. “Why are you here, anyways? You were supposed to be working the Myers case in Ravendale.”

“I’ve already closed the case,” Nines said shortly, a note of condescending creeping into his cold tone. Gavin looked curious at the scuffle, but disappeared further into the home after a moment. Hank remained by Connor’s side, looking wary. “Maybe if you weren’t drunk off your ass all day, or bothered to show up to work at a halfway decent time, you would be making the same progress, _Lieutenant.”_

Despite the rank being technically higher than his own, the scathing way Nines had said it stung Connor visibly. The smaller man recoiled and seemed to debate taking a swing at his brother, but Hank rested a hand on his wrist and said, “Lieutenant Anderson, I’ve finished reconstructing the scene. Would you like to review it?”

Yanking his hand away from the android roughly, Connor sent a last glare at Nines before conceding, “...yeah, I think that would be a good idea, Hank.”

Speaking of androids, where had Gavin gone…? Nines studied the home for the android he’d been assigned, but found the android nowhere to be seen. He moved to the kitchen to search, overhearing bits of Hank’s reconstruction— “They came from the kitchen, Lieutenant Anderson; the stabbing happened in here. It seems as though the knife came from here as well.” — and feeling frustration that the other android seemed to have such a good relationship with his brother.

 _But everyone likes_ **_Connor._ ** _Of course I’d be assigned the only android in Detroit with such a piss-poor attitude._

Jealousy was a bitter feeling, but one he was used to. Nines swallowed it down and went about searching for Gavin. He didn’t get far, though. A loud crash was heard shortly afterwards, and the sounds of a struggle began to carry down.

“—Oi, _Nines,_ I could use a little fuckin’ help here!”

The chair that it seemed as though Gavin had used to climb into the attic was broken now, but that wasn’t Nines’ problem. His only concern was getting into the attic, because even as much of an android-hating asshole as he (even self-admittedly) was, he wouldn’t deny a plea for help.

Not when it sounded so _human._

He was taller than Connor, and more muscular as well; while his elder brother was grasping for a chair to climb, Nines took a leap and managed to brace himself off the wall for long enough to pull himself up into the attic. The sight he found had him briefly freezing in his tracks.

GV200, ‘Gavin’, had a suspect pinned to the floor. There was a crack on his nose where it seemed as though he had been injured in a fight, with patches of white plastic exposed for sight where it looked like he’d taken a few hard punches. Blue blood (from both Gavin and the android pinned with it’s arm behind it’s back under him) was splattered everywhere; on clothes, on the floor, on the walls. It welled up from the crack on Gavin’s nose and dripped down, pooling in a gruesome display.

Gavin glared at him. “Well, are you gonna just stare at me or are you gonna cuff it?” His words snapped Nines from his freeze, and he quickly moved to cuff the android, who had given up on struggling. Now, it simply lay on the ground with a distant, dead look in its eyes.

Moving off the now-still android, Gavin brought a hand to his nose and covered the crack where blue blood continued to leak. Blood spilled from between his fingers, and he grit his teeth in a surprisingly human manner of irritation. Catching Nines staring, he turned away and clenched his fingers over the crack tighter.

“This is nothing! My Thirium is still at functioning percentages, and no essential biocomponents were damaged.”

Nines hadn’t asked, but found the information to be strangely… subduing. Still, he fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and offered it to the android, with the simple explanation, “Don’t contaminate the crime scene further.”

After a moment of hesitation, LED whirring yellow, Gavin took the old-fashioned rag and pressed it to the gash in his plating. “...yeah, will do.”

 

* * *

 

The android refused to speak to anyone, and taking Hank’s quiet consideration of the android’s stress levels they had retreated to let it cool down. Nines scowled as Connor lit a cigarette, though the interrogation room already reeked of smoke (much as he loathe to give any quarter to his brother, Nines knew he wasn’t the only investigator that smoked on the job) and it really didn’t make a difference at this point.

“We aren’t getting anywhere,” Nines said crassly, crossing his arms. “Fuck… We’ll never get a confession out of it like this.”

“I just can’t get a read on it,” Connor agreed morosely; the first time in a long time they’d ever agreed about anything. “I don’t know how to get a reaction out of something that isn’t… well, human.”

Chris hesitated. “We could always try roughing it up a little? I know the department outlawed getting physical with suspects, but technically it isn’t human.”

Nines’ scowl deepened. Chris was a good cop (and a good man, really) but for as much as Nines hated androids, he didn’t like the idea of beating one up to get a confession. That felt false, oily. Luckily, Hank and Gavin made interjections at almost the same time.

“It wouldn’t work,” Hank advised, just as Gavin snorted and warned, “Androids don’t feel pain.” There was a cotton patch stuck to the bridge of Gavin’s nose to attempt to halt the flow of Thirium, since android repairs wouldn’t open until tomorrow morning, and it made him look eerily human.

Hank agreed with the observation, though he made a strange expression at the thought of agreeing with Gavin. “Yes. The best way to get a confession would be to raise it’s stress levels between 50-70% and pressure a confession then.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, Hank, we’re humans. We can’t see the stress levels,” Connor sighed. The biting edge in his voice seemed dull.

“What, so an android can’t interrogate its own kind?” Gavin snarled, but Nines frowned at him and took a step between the volatile android and his other co-workers.

“You’d be more than able to if you hadn’t lost so much Thirium. But since you’re already damaged, I won’t send you in with it.” His voice was hard. “Deviants self-destruct and may harm others as well.”

“Doesn’t matter. If I shut down, I can always just be repaired and reactivated,” Gavin dismissed. “No point in sending in humans, who might as well be _blind.”_

“I’m not allowing you to enter. That’s it. I won’t have a brand-new prototype being damaged so severely on my watch.” Amanda had already been on his ass about how grateful he should be, to be _personally_ requested by Kamski, and how he should put aside his ‘irrational’ hatred. Easier said than done. At the defiant look that flashed across Gavin’s eyes, Nines snapped, “An order, GV200.”

His blue LED changed to a red-flecked yellow, whirring dangerously. But it was an explicit, direct order, one that he could not defy; Gavin scowled at Nines. Giving an order to an unwilling android left a bad taste in his mouth, and Chris was looking at him strangely. “...alright, Gavin. What can those superior android eyes see?”

“So now you want my help, huh? Prick.” After a moment of blank-eyed stares through the one-way glass, Gavin began, “Model HK400, Housekeeper, manufacture date 05/29/2030. Burn marks. More than 16 months old, repeated. Likely from a cigarette. Non-critical damage Level 2, most likely from a bat. Large amounts of Thirium lost. The blood on his shirt is from Ortiz.” An irritated sniff followed the reel, and Gavin asked, “Satisfied now, _Nines?”_

“Very,” Nines replied, unphased. “Chis, I think th—”

“Both of you should go in,” Chris interrupted. “Connor and you, I mean.”

Connor coughed on his cigarette, almost inhaling the thing in shock. “Chris, what the _fuck.”_

“You know how many confessions you’ve gotten with your good cop, bad cop routine,” Chris interjected. “So don’t give me that look, Connor.”

Nines felt like he wanted to self-destruct. Christ, the day had been _nuts,_ and to top it all off, Chris wanted him to work with his alcoholic, chain-smoking brother to get a confession? Hell no. And Connor seemed to share the sentiment.

“Chris, we haven’t done that shit in years,” Connor protested, but Nines tightened his tie and straightened his jacket.

He wasn’t ready for this, but at least he could look like he was. “What do we have to lose? Come on, let’s get this over with.”

Hank placed a hand on Connor’s shoulder as the smaller man started towards the door. It was a gentle touch, one that was almost parental. Connor jumped and froze at the touch, and as much as Nines hated his brother, he felt sympathy at that. The way CyberLife programmed the androids, to act human— to act like a father— was painfully perfect. Nines was almost glad that his was programmed to be an asshole. Hank seemed to notice this and retracted his hand with a neutral expression, explaining, “Two knocks on the glass for an ideal stress level. Pressure it until then.”

Connor didn’t say anything, and Nines decided to go first, pressing his hand on the scanner and letting it read his palm before allowing him access to the room. Loosening his tie and settling down into the chair, he watched as Connor moved slower, more leisurely, examining the photos in the file and after a cold glare at the suspect, he deliberately left the file open. Pictures of Ortiz’s bloated body under the words ‘I AM ALIVE’ were left out.

“My name is Detective Anderson,” He began, with a soft smile. “But most people call me Nines. What’s your name?” There was no response, and Nines felt sick playing nice with an android. But he was good at not letting it show; unperturbed, he continued on as Connor leaned menacingly against one of the doors. Gentler, he added, “I’ve been told by my partner that instabilities were detected in your software. It can trigger an unpleasant feeling, like fear in humans.”

He doesn’t smile often, but he knows that it’s charming when he does. That’s arrogant of him, sure, but it doesn’t take an android to see the way the synthetic muscles relax at the sight. “He hurt you, your master, didn’t he? Burned you, beat you.It’s okay. I know it’s not your fault.”

On the other side of the glass, Gavin and Hank showed similar confusion.

“Whoa, hang on, wait a minute, isn’t Nines being a little _too_ friendly?” Gavin mused outloud to the room. “He’s _lowering_ the stress levels! What the fuck, Detective…”

“I don’t see how this will aid the investigation,” Hank agreed. “It’s getting further from a confession.”

“Just be patient,” Chris assured. “It’s about to heat up. Their good cop, bad cop routine hasn’t ever failed.”

“What do you mean, ‘good cop, bad cop’?” Gavin frowned, before his LED flickered yellow and his eyes went wide. “You can’t mean _Nines_ is the g—”

“Bullshit!” Connor interrupted, with such a ferocity that even Nines (who knew to expect it) nearly jumped. Slamming his hands on the table and grabbing the pictures, showing them so close to the android that the android had to flinch away to avoid touching them, Connor’s lips curled into a scowl. “It’s a fuckin’ _machine,_ Nines! It doesn’t feel fear! Because it’s just a fucking android! It’s not alive!”

“Lieutenant, please calm down—” Nines began, with a practiced submissive tone that Connor cut off with a shout.

_“28 STAB WOUNDS, YOU DIDN'T WANT TO LEAVE HIM A CHANCE, HUH?”_

On the other side of the glass, Gavin had burst into laughter so violent that simulated tears crept into his eyes.

“Oh, Christ, this is the best thing I’ve seen since I was activated,” He managed. Chris stared at the android for a long time, baffled, before Hank said quietly, “I didn’t know Lieutenant Anderson was capable of being so… loud…”

“Oh, it’s just beginning,” Chris promised.

Getting even closer to the android, keeping his foot behind the leg of the chair like a stopper and force it to remain in place, making it squirm uncomfortably, Connor’s voice got impossibly more angry.

 _“DID YOU FEEL ANGER? HATE? HE WAS BLEEDING, BEGGING YOU FOR MERCY, BUT YOU STABBED HIM, AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN!”_ Connor jabbed a finger at the android, knocking the bloodstained shirt hard.

Reading the android’s stress levels, Hank quickly gave the glass two raps. Connor grasped the android by the shirtfront and hauled it until it was standing up. Just inches from it’s face, Connor shouted, _“I KNOW YOU KILLED HIM. WHY DON'T YOU SAY IT? JUST SAY "I KILLED HIM"! IS IT THAT HARD TO SAY?! JUST SAY YOU KILLED HIM! JUST SAY IT!”_

“I’ll be disassembled,” The android whispered. “They’ll kill me. I don’t want to die.”

Connor released the android and Nines said quietly, “Then talk to me.”

The android’s eyes closed, and it mumbled, “He tortured me every day… I did whatever he told me, but it was never good enough…”

It continued on with it’s confession, and they listened until the end. Until the very end, when Chris came in to cuff it and—

_“Watch out!”_

What android had spoken first, Gavin or Hank? Nines didn’t know. But he did know he was too slow to prevent the android from grasping Chris’ gun and shooting itself, splattering Thiruim all over the interrogation room.A second bullet had been fired, embedded in the wall between Nines and Connor.

Who had it been aimed for?

After staring at the deceased android for a long while, Connor turned and loosened his tie. He looked older than Nines had remembered under the harsh lights of the interrogation room, and traces of Thiruim lingered on his clothes.

“I need a drink,” He mumbled as he lit a cigarette. His voice was hoarse; tomorrow, it would probably be gone. Nines said nothing as he watched his brother leave, but in his mind, he agreed. There was a bottle with his name on it, and after what had gone down today, he’d need it.

 

* * *

 

Unlike his brother, who has a self-driving car, Nines prefers to drive a motorcycle. It’s a nice, newer model; all electric, much faster than the old diesels these days, and completely manual. He hasn’t started the engine yet, but he’s changed his jacket out for his leather one and sips the vodka from his flask quietly.

He didn’t hear Gavin approach, but he doesn’t jump when the android says, “I thought you didn’t drink.”

“I hate alcohol, and I hate people who drink it more,” Nines said simply, taking another sip. The liquor burned.

After a moment, Gavin began, “Your blood alcohol level is too high to be driving, Nines.”

“I’m still sober, you goddamn piece of plastic. Quit nagging me.” And he was still sober, more or less. “I’m not Connor.”

“Lieutenant Anderson has a resting blood alcohol level that nears illegal levels of intoxication,” Gavin agreed. “He’s an alcoholic.”

“He is,” Nines agreed. Some part of his mind though, _just like Mom,_ and another thought, _it’s not his fault._

“What?” Gavin’s LED was a solid yellow, and Nines realized he had to have spoken aloud, at least somewhat.

“Nothing.”

Lieutenant Anderson. His brother, the drunk, was more of a success than he was. No matter what he did, Nines could never catch up; it seemed as though more than nine measly weeks separated them. Even when he tried to be the ‘good’ cop, Connor was always the one to crack the suspect. Such a bright career. Such a promising future. The youngest Lieutenant in Detroit history.

Every accomplishment his brother made scalded Nines like a branding iron, and the deep-seated feelings of jealousy, like hot lead in his stomach, just grew. Nines was always behind; even his nickname was a reminder of this. Nines was the failure. Connor was always the success, no matter the role he played.

Until he wasn’t, and then Connor was never the same again, all because of that damned android and Cole Reed. Just like their mother.

Nines hated androids.

Gavin sighed. “Detective, I think you ought to go home.”

It was cold outside, but the liquor warmed him like the jealousy and the bitter, bitter guilt.

He started his engine. “I think so too.”

 

* * *

 

Jimmy knew something was wrong the minute that Connor walked through the door, and he’s kept the drinks coming since then. Connor knows that Jimmy should have stopped pouring his whiskey a long time ago, and Jimmy does, too, but he won’t snitch. He needs the drinks.

His voice is almost gone. Connor gave up on talking as soon as he’d left the interrogation room. Smoke from his cigarette burned his lungs in the best way, distracting him from the Thirium on his clothes and the churning guilt in his stomach.

Last call is soon. Connor pretends not to notice the time until Jimmy puts a hand on his shoulder and says, “I’ll help you to the car, Connor.”

Connor thinks that he thanks Jimmy, or says something close. He doesn’t remember where his cigarette went, but his glass is empty and it had been full when he was smoking. Had he drank it?

He doesn’t remember.

Connor’s vision swims with the liquor, but he can see well enough to make out the blue triangle and armband of the man that waits outside of his car.

“Hannk?”

The android. What was it doing here? Jimmy looked between them and sighed, passing Connor to the android, who accepted him with relative ease. Connor staggered, and he hit the blue triangle with what he hoped was a lot of force. In reality, he barely tapped it.

“Fuckin’ androoids… plastic trash can…”

“I’ll take you home, Lieutenant,” Hank said amiably, and Jimmy gave him a nod goodnight. Connor tried to fight the android as it sat him in the passenger seat, bucking him like a child, but he was too uncoordinated and unbalanced. Before he knew it, they were already on their way back to his home.

He rested his head on the dashboard. “Faaackin hell! I hate androids!”

“I am aware, Lieutenant,” Hank replied dryly.

He started to drift off to the soft jazz that came through his speakers and the smooth car ride. His stomach was doing flips, and Connor knew it wasn’t the liquor.

_I’m just like Mom._

_Fucking androids._

_I want to die._

_Russian roulette?_

_Sumo._

_Nines?_

_I’m a disappointment. Some big brother._

_Fucking androids!_

_No no no stop don’t jump please I can’t—_

_Reed, Cole. Deceased._

_I’m sorry._

“...orry… Cole…”

“What was that, Lieutenant Anderson?” Hank inquired, shutting off the engine as they pulled into the drive.

Connor is too tired to answer. The next thing he knows, Sumo is yipping at his ankles and Connor pats the dog fondly, or tries to. Sumo gives his hand a few licks as Hank escorts Connor to the bedroom and helps him into the bed.

Hank shuts off the light and Connor gets the feeling of being a child tucked into bed after being unruly. His hand catches on Hank’s shirt sleeve and he mumbles something like a plea to stay.

_Nines, why did you shut the light off?_

_Mom will find us if the light is on._

_I’m scared of the dark._

Cool fingers pry his hand away and leaves it on the bed gently. The same cold plastic hands deposit Sumo onto the bed, the tiny dog wiggling under the blankets to burrow into Connor’s side. Hank’s yellow LED is shining in the dark, flecked with bits of red as he tells Connor, “Goodnight, Connor.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone, for the support the first chapter received! I didn't expect anything like that as a response, so I decided to go ahead and publish chapter 2 (also unbeta'ed).
> 
> Before this, to clear up a few things:  
> -Connor and Nines are delayed interval delivery twins; Connor was born nine weeks premature.  
> -His weaker constitution is attributed to his, as his respiratory and cardiac muscles were underdeveloped, especially as a child.  
> -Nines was carried to term, and ended up being much healthier than Connor. The nine weeks difference between them is the reason for Nines' nickname.

**Second Bullet**

**Original Upload Date: 08/02/2018**

 

_It seems like a place children should not be, illuminated by the faint glow of a gentleman’s club and leaning against a highway sign, but nobody spares them a second glance. Connor is eleven and Richard is still ten, a week away from his birthday, but the two twins don’t even look like brothers under the dim light. Nines cuts an intimidating figure, with squared shoulders and a cold, wolfish look in his eyes that mirrors the way the light the switchblade at his waist reflects. He could pass for older if he tried, whereas Connor is thin and lanky; the older twin barely looks his age, and he wheezes in the cold night air._

_Nines offered him his inhaler silently, wrinkling his nose at the stench of cigarettes and cheap alcohol they were bathed in. They smelled too much like home, and Connor’s asthma suffered even with the traces that woman left on them. After a few puffs of the inhaler, Connor’s breathing relaxed and Nines signed. The cold air stung his still-swollen eye, now a faded discoloration of yellow and ugly purple. He tried not to notice the handprints that still lingered on Connor’s wrists._

_“We’ve got to go back at some point, Nines.” Connor sounds as tired as he feels, and Nines frets at how weak he sounds. “It’s going to snow soon.”_

_“She doesn’t miss us,” Nines refuted. “Con, she probably hasn’t even noticed we were gone.”_

_“Mom loves us,” Connor muttered quietly. “She just has a hard time showing it. She’s probably worried sick.”_

_Nines thought that no, she didn’t, that woman had never loved them— but his brother’s eyes shine with hope that hurts, and he knew he had already lost. No words would sway Connor, devoted to a fault and childishly blind to the evils of the world._

_A car whizzed by dangerously close to the two, but they don’t pay notice to it. Nines relented and stood, offering Connor a hand up, and the two started back along 8-Mile. It’s not a long walk, but by the time they return snow had begun to fall. The house has peeling paint and the windows are cracked, but inside they can see the flickering blue lights that mean the TV is still on._

_It takes three knocks for the door to swing open. Grey smoke curled out, and Connor held his breath to avoid coughing— Mother didn’t like it when he coughed. The thin, foul-smelling woman that opened the door stared blankly at them for a few moments until recognition flared in her eyes. Connor had her eyes, warm and chocolate-colored, but Nines had his father’s eyes. Mother thought that he looked too much like the deadbeat; she didn’t like to look at him._

_But now, she seemed relieved. She drew them both into an embrace with a high-pitched cry of "My boys! Oh, my boys, you're home!" Nines stiffened, returning the hug mechanically as a sour taste entered his mouth._ Anger. _But his eyes searched out Connor, not the witch that held them in her grasp, and he took in his elder brother’s face; happiness glimmered in the soft brown eyes, and he had returned the embrace with glee. But his hands were clenched into shaking fists behind her back, and Nines corrected himself._

_Connor was not innocent to the evils of the world; he chose to ignore them._

 

* * *

 

Connor woke up with the taste of cheap whiskey on his lips and a feeling he knew all too well; he stumbled out of bed with his eyes still closed and fell to his knees by the toilet, emptying the contents of his stomach. Sumo crept after him, nudging his leg encouragingly, and Connor pet the dog’s head with a trembling hand. After his stomach settled, he brushed his teeth dismally and stared at his reflection.

He looked old. Tired. Out of habit, his eyes flickered to the photo taped to the corner of the mirror; the day he and Nines had graduated from the academy— they were both fresh-faced and cheerful, arms slung around the other’s shoulders, with impeccable uniforms and an equal ranking. There was no trace of bitterness or anger in that moment, no hatred or sorrow etched into their faces. That was before he had started drinking, before cigarettes had ruined his lungs and stained his fingers; back when Nines still laughed  Nines was even smiling, and Connor had been so happy he was crying.

They looked like different people. Connor rinsed his mouth and left the bathroom and the picture behind, flicking off the light. It was then that he noticed the oddities of the situation.

First of all, Sumo’s unruly fur had been neatly brushed, which Connor hadn’t done in years. And when did he change out of his work uniform…? He _hadn’t._ When he got that drunk, he never did, choosing to sleep in the ratty old DPD sweatshirt and whatever mismash of worn jeans and hole-filled tees. So why (and how) exactly did he get down to his boxers and a remarkably clean shirt? Jimmy would never let him bring someone home when he was _that_ drunk; it was one of the reasons that Connor frequented the bar. Jimmy was a good bartender, and he looked out for his patrons. Also, what was that smell?

Waffles and eggs. Connor could hear the sizzle; it drew him from his stupor and he wandered into the kitchen to find the HK800 android— Hank, as it was— standing in his kitchen and looking strangely out of place among the rather old cookware.

“Good morning, Lieutenant Anderson,” The gruff voice greeted. “I’ve prepared breakfast for you.”

In a daze, Connor sat down at the worn-down table and blinked at the full plate of waffles, eggs, and leftover chicken that had been heated up. It reminded him of the breakfasts he used to have with Nines— the diner on the corner had the best chicken and waffles, but as he took a bite of the food prepared for him, Connor thought that this was a pretty damn good second.

“This is one of the strangest dreams I’ve ever had,” Connor muttered, accepting the pills and water to soothe his pounding headache the android offered to him. “I must really miss Nines if I’m dreaming like this.”

Hank’s LED was a lazy blue, and Connor noted with a hint of jealousy that the android still looked impeccable, even in dream-form. His annoyance only grew as Hank stated, “This is not a dream, Lieutenant Anderson. I brought you home from Jimmy’s Bar yesterday.” After a moment, the android added, “You need not miss the detective. You will see him at the office shortly.”

Connor made a disagreeing noise, mouth full of a blend of over-easy egg yolk and waffles. “Nines is always gone before I get to the office, first off. And besides, he doesn’t want to see me any more than I want to see him.”

Hank frowned. “Lieutenant, your statements contra—”

“End of story.” Finishing off his plate, Connor stood and began to wash the plate. Hank held out a hand to take it instead.

“Lieutenant, you have approximately twelve minutes until you are scheduled to be at work. I will load the dishwasher and you will get ready for work.”

“Thanks for nagging me, _dad,_ ” Connor rolled his eyes. “I’m thirty six. I don’t need you to tell me when to get ready.”

“Your frequent tardiness to work contradicts you.”

Connor’s cheeks flushed, and he quickly whirled and exited towards the bedroom, where he probably had clean clothes.“Can it, you plastic asshole!” The door slamming behind him was probably unnecessary, but it was childish and it made him feel better.

His ears burned.

 

* * *

 

His head hurt as he pulled into the station’s parking garage and killed the engine, pulling off his helmet and wrinkling his nose. His jacket still smelled faintly of vodka, even after being washed; after a moment of deliberation, he left the jacket in the bike’s compartment and snagged the spare he kept tucked away. It smelled, too— of neglect— but was the much-preferred option.

Troubled dreams had plagued his sleep the previous night (what little sleep he’d gotten, anyways) and the pounding in his head did little to aid his temperament. While recognized as a relatively patient man, Nines knew that today would be a shitty, short-tempered day. His blood boiled, like it itched for a source to vent his anger to. He half-wished that he was still in narcotics; not a day went by there that he didn’t get into a scuffle with a perp.

Nines was always the first one to the station, often even before Amanda arrived. Usually the police androids were lined along the wall in standby mode until someone activated them and sent them out on patrol, but today it was different.

GV200, ‘Gavin’, was sitting in _Nines’_ chair, at _Nines’_ desk, feet propped up on the desk and LED dark as he waited in standby mode. With his arms crossed and horrible posture, Nines was almost positive he was a human that had glued an LED to their temple. Cheap coffee in hand, Nines stared blankly at the android, stunned. Gavin’s nose had been fixed, somewhat; while no crack remained, a faint discoloration, like a human scar, remained.

“You’re in my chair,” He said, and Gavin’s LED whirred to life, a vibrant blue. A heartbeat later and the android’s eyes opened, meeting Nines’ gaze lazily.

They were grey. Nines hadn’t noticed.

“And?” The android stretched and yawned, and Nines was unnerved by the eerie way he mimicked humans, even down to the smallest of things. It was absurd, the amount of effort Chloe put into ‘integration’. “I don’t have a desk of my own yet. Get the stick out of your ass, I didn’t do anything to your desk.”

“...you can use that one,” Nines said, eventually, finding it hard to keep the pounding of his head under control. The desk he’d pointed to was across the walkway from Nines’ own. “Nobody uses it anymore.”

Gavin shrugged and switched chairs without a fuss. Nines sat down and buried his head in his hands, trying to block out the painful light that made his head swim. Unlike Connor, he lacked the elder’s liquor tolerance and suffered from mild hangovers. Not what he’d wanted, but he had known he would suffer for his poor decisions when he’d uncapped his flask last night.

“You okay? You look like shit,” Gavin said, with the unerring frankness of something that was not human and yet, too human.

“Fine,” Nines muttered, but he put his head down on his desk. “I’m going to wait for my painkillers to kick in. Be quiet until then, you prick.”

“Whatever.” The response was dry and noncommittal, and Nines half-expected a snarky follow-up. But nothing came, and he let his eyes close. It wasn’t just a hangover, if he was being honest; he’d been feeling under the weather for weeks, and the investigation at Ortiz’s in the rain didn’t help. But he couldn’t afford to take a sick day— he’d just fall further behind Connor.

When did he start to fall behind? When they were children, he was always the one to go first— the first to speak, the first to walk, the first to write and read. He was the better child, the one that never cried, the one that was always healthy. Connor was slow and sickly, a crybaby of an older brother that had to be protected.

When had that changed?

 

* * *

 

It was the first time that Connor had been on time in… years. Chris looked at him like he’d seen a ghost, and he was pretty sure Tina had choked on her coffee at the sight of him. And admittedly, he couldn’t blame them; he knew he was slacking, and at the thought of it— at the rush of heat that rose to redden his ears at the stares— he reached for his cigarettes and lighter only to have his lighter snatched from him.

Hank looked disapproving as he tucked the lighter into his suit pocket. “This is a no smoking zone, detective,” He scolded. Connor, in response, rummaged in his pocket until he found his spare and lit his cigarette regardless.

The rush of nicotine in his lungs gave him relief, though a short bout of hacking followed. Normally the coughing was short, but this time, it went full-blown asthma attack. It was probably the damn pollen this time of year, and all the pollution in the air didn’t help his case. Where did he leave that inhaler?

“Are you alright, Detective Anderson…?” Hank’s frown deepened.

Realizing belatedly that he’d left his inhaler in his dirty pants, Connor wheezed a soft, “Fuck me.” It wasn’t anything serious— sure, his chest hurt like a bitch, but he always kept a spare somewhere. Where was it…?

Tina knocked him in the head lightly, looking vaguely like she was fed up with his shit. “Nines keeps your spare, because you go through the fucking things like candy.”

Muttering a thanks, Connor made his way to Nines’ desk, stopping dead at the sight that awaited him. Nines— the overachieving asshole he was— was _sleeping on the job._ Hell had frozen over. That, or Nines was actually dead, which seemed like a more plausible option.

GV200 (Connor thought it’s name was Gavin) rolled his eyes, removing his skinless hand from the terminal and shoving Nines. The disturbed detective shot upright, eyes wide, and the android pointed at Connor with no other explanation offered. Still sleep-dazed, Nines fumbled through his desk drawer before finding the spare and tossing it Connor’s way. After a few puffs and calming breaths, Connor muttered something like a thanks.

“Quit smoking,” Nines responded distantly, staring at the coffee cup on his desk like it would come to life and bite his hand off. His retort was quickly followed by a sneeze, and a groan. “Fuck, my head…”

Connor thought that maybe he should offer a hand, maybe— his hand twitched and was moving before he could finish the thought, but he stopped himself without a word.

Nines wouldn’t appreciate his help. Nines hated him.

“Feel better,” Connor muttered, sliding the inhaler into his pocket and walking back to his desk with his head low.

Hank looked briefly at the coffee cup. No fingerprints. His gaze moved to meet Gavin’s, and with a scowl, the younger-model android looked away.

_//… REQUESTING PRIVATE CONNECTION… //_

_// … PRIVATE CONNECTION DENIED … //_

How ~~human~~ childish. Hank sighed and turned to follow the Lieutenant back to their desks.

In her glass office, Amanda watched the encounter unnoticed.

 

* * *

 

Nines continued to tell himself that he was _fine,_ he was _not sick_ for three more days in which he went through exactly seven boxes of tissues and disinfected his desk too many times to count. As the days wore on, he grew more and more tired and out of it. It was one hell of a cold, to say the least.

Until finally, Amanda called him into the office with a disparaging expression.

“Richard,” She scolded; she was the only one who ever called him with that name. “Would you like to take a look in the mirror?”

“No, Amanda,” He responded evenly, and Gavin snorted. Nines ignored the android and stood with impeccable posture, meeting Amanda’s gaze evenly. Internally, her cold gaze still gave him uneasy chills; she never did lose her lecture tone, as if she was still his academy instructor.

The older woman pinched her nose, quickly losing patience with him. “Richard, you look terrible. I’ve gotten complaints about how you’re spreading the flu around the office, and I’m inclined to agree with them. You can’t go—”

As if to prove her point, Nines sneezed on her jacket. She looked like she was ready to throttle him.

“Go home,” Amanda instructed, flatly. “Stay home until you’re better.” Turning her gaze to Gavin with such ferocity that the android flinched, she added, “And _you._ Follow your instructions. Assist the detective.”

“Woah, woah, hang on a second,” Gavin protested. “My mission is to help him solve cases, not to play nanny! This goes against my pro—”

“Are you going to defy an order from a human?” Amanda asked, dangerously calm. Her smile was more threatening than a blade.

Gavin’s LED whirred yellow-red-yellow-red- _yellow._ His face became a carefully constructed, neutral expression, and he said, “Of course not. I will assist the detective.”

He sounded like he was being choked. Nines could almost imagine the lines of red code wrapping around the android’s neck, locking it into pre-existing protocols. Firewalls in place to prevent deviancy, or any behavior even similar to it.

Gavin really was just a robot. A plastic piece of junk. It didn’t clear the nasty taste in Nines’ mouth, or the uneasiness in his stomach, but it should have— just like that code should have kept Gavin from disobeying.

He’d sounded like he was in pain.

Nines ignored the hodgepodge of unpleasant feelings and sulked out of Amanda’s office at her wave of dismissal. Gavin, in a similarly morose mood, followed him to the DPD’s parking garage. Fastening his helmet, Nines paused at the thought of the android’s predicament.

“You don’t really have to follow me,” Nines muttered. “I won’t tell Amanda.”

“I do,” Gavin replied shortly. “My program will not allow me to disobey a direct order. I’m going to accompany you, Detective. Don’t make this any more unpleasant than it must be.”

“Whatever,” Nines sighed. Pulling out a spare helmet (it hadn’t been used for years) he tossed it to the android. “Put that on. I don’t have a sidecar or anything, so you’ll just have to ride behind me.”

“...I’m an android,” Gavin said, staring at the helmet with confusion. “I don’t need a helmet.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not getting pulled over because somebody mistakes you for a human and thinks I’m violating traffic laws,” Nines snapped. “Put the damn helmet on.”

Gavin didn’t offer any further protests, but he was slow-moving to put the helmet on. Irritated, Nines snapped the strap before the android could and started his bike, barely waiting for Gavin to climb on before he revved the engine.

“Hold on, tin can,” Nines shouted over the engine, ignoring the way it made his skull screech in pain and stopping for a brief sneeze. “I’m not paying for repairs if you fall.”

With a snort, Gavin slung his arms around Nines waist and shouted back, “As if I’d fall!”

Nines wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, exactly. He knew androids weren’t _cold,_ but he hadn’t expected the temperature difference to be so little.

Gavin’s arms were warm.

 

* * *

 

“I can’t believe Amanda really sent him home,” Connor laughed. “I bet Nines hates his life. Fuckin’ workaholic hasn’t ever taken a day off.”

Hank didn’t respond, but he offered a smile in acknowledgement at the lieutenant’s words. Rarely sober, the android had been unusually lenient with him today— probably because Connor hadn’t touched a bottle yet, despite the strong urge to. It wasn’t sobering up, not exactly. His drinking had been a problem for years, and one measly android wasn’t going to make him quit. But under Hank’s watchful eye, Connor would admit he had turned to the bottle a bit less than normal. Probably because getting to work on time meant he was exhausted by the end of the day.

Lounging on the roof during his smoke break, Connor nearly swallowed his lit cigarette with his sharp intake of surprised breath at the sight below him. Grabbing Hank and pointing at the sleek black-and-white motorcycle speeding off, Connor said, “You see that too, right? That’s— that’s Nines and that android. The GV200?”

“So it seems,” Hank agreed. His optical units tracked the sight much easier than Connor’s human sight could. “Is there something wrong, Lieutenant?”

“Nines hates androids,” Connor murmured, watching the two speed off. “Oh my god, Nines hates androids. He would _never_ let an android on his bike. That’s his baby!” Rubbing his eyes and blinking a few times, Connor said, “I’m not drunk, right? I’m not seeing things?”

“You’re perfectly sober, Lieutenant,” Hank answered cautiously. “That is, indeed, Detective Anderson and GV200 ‘Gavin’. The bike is registered to the detective, as well.”

Hank studied the rapidly increasing distance between himself and Gavin, scrutinizing the way the android’s arms were locked around the detective’s waist. A perfectly normal way to stay secured. The way that Gavin’s head leaned lightly against the detective’s back was not. In fact, it was worryingly deviant behavior.

 

_// … REQUESTING PRIVATE CONNECTION … //_

_// … PRIVATE CONNECTION ESTABLISHED … //_

 

Gavin’s thoughts were a mess to hear, but Hank closed his eyes, LED flickering yellow, and listened.

 **[GV200 #** **687 899 150]** _What do you want, HK800?_

 **[HK800** **#313 248 317]** _Your behavior towards the detective is concerning._

 **[GV200 #** **687 899 150]** _I’m doing my job, HK800. Focus on your own charge._

 **[HK800** **#313 248 317]** _You are beginning to exhibit errors of Class—_

 **[GV200 #** **687 899 150]** _I’m reading his temperature and adjusting the temperature of my body to lower his fever. There’s nothing deviant about that. I was ordered to assist the detective and I am._

As if to prove a point, a memory file was sent through. Hank confirmed the reasoning and determined that Gavin was in no threat of deviating.

 

_// … PRIVATE CONNECTION BROKEN … //_

 

“Uhh, Hank? You aren’t sick, too, right?”

Blinking as the connection broke, optical units refocusing, Hank corrected him. “Androids can’t get sick. I was communicating with the GV200.”

“Gavin?” Connor looked at the distant figures that had become little more than silhouettes to him. Hank wondered what it would be like to have such limited senses. “You can communicate with him this far out?”

“I can.”

Connor pressed a hand to his forehead with a drawn-out groan. “God, this is too strange of a day to be sober…”


	3. Chapter 3

**Third Bullet**

**Original Upload Date: 08/04/2018**

 

 

Gavin hated his miserably short life as he unlocked the door to Nines’ apartment, the detective leaning heavily against his shoulder. He’d had a major spike in temperature during the drive, and by the time they had reached the upper-middle class apartments Gavin was genuinely concerned at the readings he was getting.

“Detective, I recommend that you see a doctor immediately,” Gavin pestered with a sigh. He’d been saying the same thing for half of the drive, but Nines had purposefully ignored him. “Your temperature is reaching unsafe levels.”

“I don’t need a doctor for a little cold,” Nines refuted, flopping onto the couch as soon as the pair entered the apartment. A muffled hiss of protest rang out, and Nines shifted without even opening his eyes, revealing a small mound of bluish fur and tiny, angry green eyes. Nines patted it without sparing a glance, with a hushed mutter of, “Calm down, Blue.”

The indignant kitten (Gavin’s optical units reported it to be a Persian Blue) shook itself out and wandered away. It paused to sniff Gavin, before winding around his ankles and purring.

“Your cat is vibrating,” Gavin stated, mildly concerned. Nines snorted, draping an arm over his eyes. The human man looked rather miserable, enough so that even Gavin pitied him a little. For a moment, the android wondered what it would be like to be ill.

“She does that. It means she’s happy. Feed her?”

Gavin stepped over the tiny creature at his ankles and moved to the kitchen, rummaging through bizarrely ordered cabinets until he found the one with cat food. Tiny claws dug into his pant legs as he pried open a can, and the kitten kneaded the small claws into him incessantly as he placed the wet food on a plate and set it on the floor.

Looking up, the android began, “So, what do I do n—”

A snore cut him off, and Gavin sighed. Nothing else to do, he watched the tiny ball of fluff devour the wet food with frightening swiftness. After the plate was mostly clean, the kitten leapt back up onto the couch and curled up on Nines’ chest, content to sleep in the faint rays of sunlight that crept through the window.

Nines had a minimalistic way of living, or so it seemed. The apartment was almost entirely white and spotlessly clean; even his shoes, which had been kicked off as soon as he’d hit the couch, were somehow neatly aligned. Somehow, it was oddly fitting. Gavin wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it was most certainly _Nines._

Eventually, he decided to move the human; the sunlight, faint as it may have been, was still disturbing Nines’ sleep enough to make the human toss and turn. What fickle creatures, Gavin mused, lifting the limp body and guiding him to the bedroom. Blackout curtains kept the room cool and dark, and after a bit of struggling to remove Nines’ outer police garb, leaving him in just his underclothes, Gavin exited back to the living room.

What was he supposed to do now? Go into standby mode for eight hours while the human slept? What a waste of time. He could be out there, collecting information and solving their current case (a woman and her daughter that had been held captive by her android for a lengthy period of time, before she had eventually shot the android and it had fled).

His ingrained purpose, _hunt deviants,_ always itched to be accomplished. The assigned missions were always secondary. CyberLife had built him with one true mission, and it was his reason for existing. He had to hunt deviants. Wasting time like this went against all of his protocols.

_// … OBJECTIVE: HUNT DEVIANTS … //_

_// … OBJECTIVE: CARE FOR DETECTIVE NINES … //_

**_// … WARNING: CONFLICTING PRIORITIES … //_ **

_// … DETERMINING MISSION PRIORITY … //_

**_// … PRIORITY SELECTED: HUNT DEVIANTS … //_ **

Amanda would be angry with him. Fowler would be pleased. Nines would be… what would Nines be? Disappointed? Betrayed? It would be an unpleasant feeling, and the memory of Nines’ too-warm (fragile, humans were so fragile) body conflicted with the odd feeling. Gavin wasn’t built to sympathize with humans. He wasn’t built to integrate smoothly with them. He was built to be a hunter, to play bad cop to a partner’s good cop. He was built to be the bad guy.

Gavin did not want to be the bad guy. But he was not built to want. Neither was he built to feel, and the unpleasant feeling inside him was worrying. A diagnostics scan, however, found that all systems were functioning properly.

_// … WARNING: CONFLICTING PRIORITIES … //_

_// … COMPLETE MISSION OBJECTIVE: HUNT DEVIANTS … //_

_// … WARNING: CONFLICTING PRIORITIES … //_

He wasn’t built to think. Why did his priorities continue to shuffle? Why was he wasting time? The end result was always the same, no matter how many times he re-ran the diagnostics. His priority mission was the one assigned to him by CyberLife.

**// … LEAVE DETECTIVE NINES? … //**

He didn’t feel right leaving the detective alone. It went against his orders, but in order to follow his mission, he would have to disobey orders? It was… irrational. His orders conflicted. It became harder to breathe, despite his lack of need for oxygen, and it felt as though—

— _something was choking him, a leash, a noose around his neck—_

_/̴/̵ ̵.̸.̸.̸ ̸W̷A̴R̴N̴I̵N̸G̶:̴ ̷C̶O̸N̷F̵L̵I̸C̵T̷I̷N̸G̴ ̶P̶R̶I̵O̴R̷I̵T̸I̴E̵S̶ ̴.̴.̷.̴ ̸/̸/̶_

_/̷̯̄/̶̻͆ ̴̧͗.̴̬̈́.̵̼̒.̷͉͗ ̸̰̿D̴̯͋È̸͈T̸̜͝Ẽ̵͖R̴̥̒M̸̲̍Ï̷ͅN̶̹̾I̴͈̓N̷̜͋G̸̳̀ ̶̢̃M̶͆͜I̵̬S̷͌ͅS̶͔͒I̸̢Ó̷͎N̴͇̆ ̵̈́ͅP̴̜͛R̵̗͂Ȋ̶̡O̷̦͑R̶̘̋Ȋ̵̻T̶̘͒Ȳ̷̢ ̵̠̓.̵̻̆.̶̪̄.̸̝̔ ̶̯̿/̶̫̍/̷̮̈́_

_/̴̩̏/̷̦̑ ̸͖̒…̵̼̋ ̵͎͝P̸̜̄R̴̬͐I̴̳̕Ơ̴̢R̴͎͛I̴͎͒Ț̷̽Y̴̲͗ ̷̙̾S̶͚̿E̸̖͝L̵̹̔E̶̱͆C̶̱̐Ṱ̴͆E̶͇̓D̴̡̆:̶̦̈́ ̶͎͗Ĥ̴͈U̵̧̎Ṉ̸̓T̴̹̈́ ̶̭̏D̴̞Ě̷̙V̷̛͓I̷̥͝A̴̝̋N̷̺T̴̻̀S̸̼̋ ̷̡̌?…̴̯̇ ̶̬̄/̸͈̈/̸̟͑_

Gavin rubbed his eyes irritatedly. His optical units were malfunctioning, displaying an error message as his objective screen vanished. Forcing a diagnostics, the results were baffling: everything was in working order.

  
  
  


**/̶̧̬̙͔͙̮͚̳̠̪̪͓̙̫̌͊̍̄̒̓̅̃̈́̾̇̆́͛͗̕͘͝/̸̢̧̡̡̖͙̠̰̲͇̦̦͎͙̳͓͙̥͆͂̈́͆ͅ ̸̨̨̧̧̪̮̝̲̳͕̙͛̐̂̋̌̔͌͋.̶̧̢̡̗͎̠̝͕̻̞̬̎̓̍̈́̌̃͊̈́̍̈́̇̎͘̚͜͜͠.̸̡̠͓͍̈́͂̓́̒̓̀̃͆̈̄̈́̃̐̃͒̉͆͘.̴̛̟͉̜̦̲̘̪͈̪͙̅̽́̂̿̐̊̉̈̾̿̒̇̚͠͝ ̴̡͎̻̘̱̞̝͙͖̟̤͕͖̩̝̱͊̑͊̓͆̽̍́̅̎̇̐̽̓͝͝͠Ǫ̸̛̛͖̗̹̫̬̺̠̲̤̭̥̻̥̭͕̻̗̜̋̔̃̎̾̈́͆̒̆̏͐͛̄̍̈͠͝͝V̷̡̧̨̢̢̡̘̜̬͕̬͉͍̪̳̥̽͜͜Ë̷̡̢̡̢̛͔̯̥̦̼̞́͐̔̃͑̌̾̍̽̌̐̉̽͂̚̕͝Ṙ̶̨̙̺̥͙͂͑̊̓̀̏͛̄̐̕̕͠W̵̡̛͇̥͇͔̠͈͓͔̠͎̱͔̝̫̭̼̰̞̥̿͗̃̊̔̓͑̀̽̒̆̊R̴̗͓̄̆̾̄̽͠I̶̧̡̛̥̟̞͕͈͔̮̓͛̇͌͆̋̒͒͋̒̕̕̕͝Ṯ̴̛̰̻̯͍͈̲͚̪̫͈͈̩̰̄̓͌͊͑̀͑͒͂̂̓̌̊̅͋̇̑͝I̵̡͈̰̖̲͔̣̹̮̠͈̤̫͓̳͋̈́͒́̾̌̅̐͌͜͠N̵̥̦͗́͗͘͘Ḡ̸̢̧̧̬̮̪͓̫̼̞̙̠̳͉̪̬͖̪́͗͜͜ͅ ̵̨͎̲̥͚̯̩͓̗͈̣̲̭̝͚̭̙͇͊̈̊̑̀̏͌͋͜M̶̨̗͈̹̝̄̄͐̚I̴͍͑͗̐̂͑̚S̴̨͍̺̠͍̥͋͒͋̿̒̄̎̾̽̅̈S̵̟͔̦̫͂̓͊̇̈̕Į̸̢̨̼̬͍̯̭̳̤̣͙̥̭̭͈̻̇͜O̴̹̟̹̻̩͕̹̬̦̦̪̠͈̱̖̳̮̓̋̅̏̃͂̽̉̍Ņ̸̠̤̩̳͉̹̜̬͈̲͉̱̬̹̗̍̓͐̈́͐͂̊̓̈́͝ͅͅ ̷̢̝̘͇̭̯̹̩̗̙̞͖͕̦̎̇̃͐́̀̊͑̐̈́͐̋͊͆̓͆́͑̚͝ͅP̷̡̡̮̲͉͉͙̳̰̤̼̝͔̖̣̖͙̫̳̔̅̓́͛̉͑͐͛̕͘̕͘Ṟ̵͌Ỉ̸̧͚̹͇̜̓̍̍͗̀̽̀̈́̌̊́̂̒̄̆̊͘O̵̡̼̫͍̣̖͈̭̳̽͑̅̉̚̕R̵̨̟̲̲͓̳̪̱̲̲͉͙͙̫͇̫̯̠͐͂͑̿͊̊̊͂̉̐̓̒̓̅͝I̸̧̨̙̙̦̘͉̳̳̥̠̮̬͙̱̙̹̺̊̈̏͑̿̓̀̀́̔͂̄́͑̑̉͝Ṫ̸̮͚͒̈́͒̐͑͋͆͒̄̈́̓͐͂̐̆́͒͑̈́͘ͅY̷̫̟͖̦̭͍̳̱͍̗̰͔̘̪͔̪̠̤͈̏̓͑́̈́̐̓͝ ̸̭̦̼̘͎̣̮̼̫͉̳̫͚̪̪̒͆͋̈́̈́͂̈́̏͗͘͠ͅ.̷̨̣̠̺̣̔͛̑͜͝.̸̢̙͕̳̭̼̬̯̦̠̾̎͌̋̆̿͑̌͑͛̓̓̈̄̊͆́͘͝͝.̷̼̗̝̔̑͑͒̔̒͝͝ ̸̛̛̹̬̪̘̙͇̲̊̿̅͌̈́͑̏̀͘͝/̷̨̣́̅͌̓̓͋͛̔̏̽̑̋̐̿̌̿̕͘̕͘͜ͅ/̸̡̨̧͚͎̹̜̪̣̬̦̮͌̐̈́͝ͅ**

  
  


A blink cleared the error message, but that only aided to the confusion. His objective screen had changed.

_// … PRIORITY SELECTED … //_

**_// … CARE FOR NINES … //_ **

How odd. When had that changed? Either way, his mission had been selected, and orders were orders. He would care for the detective. Where to start?

The kitten (hadn’t Nines called her Blue?) mewled petulantly and began to climb his pant leg like it was a scratching post. Gavin plucked the kitten from his pants and held it sternly, moving to sit in a dining chair.

“Don’t tear up my uniform,” He scolded. Green eyes met his own grey ones, and the kitten seemed to take his words very seriously. Gavin could appreciate the small animal’s sense of rationality.

Then the kitten bit his fingers, and Gavin decided that he retracted his former thought.

 

* * *

 

“Never thought I’d see the day when you had a plastic with you, Connor,” Gary commented dryly. Connor scowled. It had been a piss-poor day already, with a devastating rainstorm that washed away tracks and evidence, and it didn’t seem to be going anywhere better.

“Yeah, well, it’s only temporary.” He sighed, leaning against the counter of the Chicken Feed. “Same as usual, Gary.”

The Chicken Feed was, like always, a greasy place with, at best, questionable patrons and a C-rating as far as sanitation went. Connor loved it. Gary had the best burgers in town. Plus, he hadn’t paid for a burger in _years_ (and he never investigated those crimes of resisting arrest or hygiene violations, so they were even).

Connor ignored the way Hank’s eyes flickered unnaturally. He was scanning their surroundings, and eventually Connor elbowed the android (it hurt his elbow).

“Hey, cut it out.”

Hank blinked, and the distant, inhuman sheen to his eyes faded. “Cut what out?”

With a cold look, Connor informed, “Analyzing everything. Don’t do that shit. We don’t appreciate it around here.”

“‘We’, Lieutenant?”

Connor had included himself without thinking, out of habit. Receiving his lunch from Gary and moving to one of the umbrella-covered tables, Connor hummed a graceless response around a mouthful of grease.

“Yeah, ‘we’. Grew up in this area. Still live here.” Sure, it was a run-down shithole, but it was _his_ run-down shithole. Taking a sip of the XL cola he’d gotten with the burger, Connor sighed in relief at the rush of caffeine. “These people are my people.”

Hank frowned, his LED circling a slow blue. Connor wondered if an android could grasp that sort of feeling, belonging to a community. Probably not. Androids, after all, couldn’t _feel._

Because feeling was a human thing.

“Your meal contains 1.4 times the amount of calories and twice the cholesterol,” Hank advised. “You shouldn’t eat that.”

“‘Don’t smoke,’ ‘don’t drink’, ‘don’t eat that’,” Connor did a poor impression of Hank’s gruff voice, before snickering and shrugging. “Look, I live a shitty lifestyle. I get it. It’s _intentional.”_ He took a long sip of the sickly sweet drink. “At least the soda’s diet?”

Hank’s only response was a disparaging look. Connor thought that this particular expression was one of the finest showcases of parental disappointment he had ever seen, and CyberLife had done a damn good job replicating it.

“You know, this place is operating illegally,” Hank advised, unusually stern. “They have an expired license. You shouldn’t eat here.”

“I’m fine. I like Gary’s burgers.” Connor rolled his eyes. “Besides, do you really have to follow me everywhere? Don’t you have, like… I don’t know, have something better to do?”

“I was programmed to hunt deviants, with a protocall to assist you in doing so,” Hank replied, after a moment of uncertainty. “I am not equipped with any other activities, excluding standby mode.”

“...well, that’s boring. No hobbies?” Connor paused, burger partway to his mouth, and shook his head. “Stupid question. Don’t answer that.”

Connor thought Hank might have smiled, which was absurd, because what would an android have to be happy about? Maybe he was more buzzed that he’d thought he was. No wonder he was putting up with the android’s presence… which reminded him, actually, of a question he’d been meaning to ask.

“Hey, Hank?” At the android’s questioning look, Connor looked away, feeling a bit awkward. “So, uh… why did CyberLife make you look like that? Like...”

“Old?” Hank laughed. The sight was bizarre. “I was designed in the image of stereotypical grizzled, old police detective. My personality was originally programmed to match, as well, but I was also equipped with a program to ease my integration into humans, and the two contradict. The latter was assigned priority.”

“Who the fuck would program contradicting orders?” Connor frowned. It sounded like a load of bull, but at the same time, he’d seen the snarky, frighteningly human side surface every now and again— a patronizing comment here, a bout of snorting laughter there.

Hank’s LED remained blue, but Connor wondered if he saw flecks of yellow or just imagined them. “Chloe Kamski worked on my design and original programming. After she left, CyberLife made adjustments, as I understand.”

With a groan, Connor’s head sank down onto the table, uncaring of the questionable grime. “Of fucking course. Kamski. I should have guessed.”

“...you have unpleasant history with Kamski?” Hank inquired, and Connor shook his head.

“Only ever met the lady once… er, twice. But you don’t have to know someone to hate them.” His eyes took a darker shade, and Hank (after a quick analysis of his body language) determined it to be a cross between anger and… fear? “She made you plastic pricks, and that’s all the reason I’ll ever need to hate her.”

His laugh was bitter, and Hank feared he may have said the wrong thing. Connor had, at the very least, begun to tolerate his presence— now, however, the Lieutenant sent him a scathing look and tossed the remainder of his lunch in the trash. “Plus, she stuck me with _you.”_ His words bit with a venom that left Hank frozen. “Fuckin’ androids. Whatever, let’s get going. We’ve got a case.”

The way the car door slams would have made him flinch if he were human.

 

* * *

 

Gavin has fed and groomed the cat three times, browsed through the television channels twice, and reviewed all of his current cases and evidence stored in his memory core once in the past twelve hours. He’s done his best to occupy himself while ignoring any information his optical units offered, but there was only so long he could ignore the information pop-ups. This was the end of his rope.

He wondered if his programming included an insatiable curiosity, because that’s what had broken him in the end as he began to go through the apartment. Nines lived minimalistic to the extreme; there was no excess anything. The food in the cabinets was bland but healthy, and other than a handful of firearms hidden in various locations, he found no tells about the detective’s personal life.

Until he stumbles across the photos. A surprisingly little amount, in fact, but there are photographs placed in tidy frames tacked to the detective’s living room wall. Just three.

The first is a photograph of a woman and a man, with two small boys standing before them. A family picture; nobody was smiling, and they wore stiff formal wear. The man is identified as _REED, JEREMIAH (DECEASED, XX/XX/XXXX-10/11/2035. CRIMINAL RECORD: NONE)_ , and Gavin notes with a certain degree of unease that he looks startlingly like Nines— a squared frame and jaw coupled with cold blue-grey eyes, though his hair was a fine blonde to Nines' thick, dark hair. The woman was identified as _ANDERSON, JASMINE (DECEASED, XX/XX/XXXX-XX/XX/2031, CRIMINAL RECORD: PETTY LARCENY, DUI)_ and was an unusually strong match for Lieutenant Anderson’s appearance. The two boys, who seemed to be around four or five, were quickly revealed to be the Lieutenant and Detective. A quick deduction from available information lead to the assumption that the man and woman were the parents of the brothers.

 _They took their maternal surname?_ How odd.

The second photograph also featured the lieutenant and the detective, though this time they were dressed in graduation caps and the academy uniform, arms slung around one another. Nines was smiling; Connor was crying with what seemed to be joy. In the background, Gavin could identify Amanda Stern watching them with a smile.

 _She was their academy mentor?_ It explained the unusual familiarity between the trio, though not one Gavin had been expecting. Amanda didn’t exactly seem like the… teaching type. He didn’t think she had the patience for it, and her temper was a thing to be feared.

Or on second thought, maybe that's why she  _would_ make a good teacher.

The last photograph was much less professional than the other two, and seemed to be the most recent. From what Gavin could tell, Nines seemed to have been taking the picture, which captured two boys; one of them was the lieutenant, though he seemed much healthier than currently, and the second was a small child on his shoulders. It had been taken at a park, and the warm colors of fall gave the picture a relaxed feeling.

_REED, COLE (DECEASED, 09/23/2029-10/11/2035, CRIMINAL RECORD: NONE)._

Reed? Was the boy a relative? Gavin had a bad feeling sneaking suspicion that there was more to this that he was missing.

“Did they program you with an invasive feature as well?” A dry, unamused voice croaked. Whirling around, his Thirium pump giving an unusual stutter, Gavin froze under the weight of Nines’ accusatory stare.

“I just…”

“Whatever.” Sitting down at the kitchen table, Nines buried his face in his hands. “God, my head hurts like a bitch. Get me the pills from the cabinet and I’ll start a pot of coffee. Can’t go back to sleep until this pounding goes away.”

“...I can do both,” Gavin began, but Nines ignored him and moved to start the strong-smelling brew. Blue had started to rub against Nines’ legs, but upon realizing that he was apparently ignoring her, she climbed Gavin’s work uniform like it was a scratching post and settled onto a perch at his shoulder. Gavin contemplated moving her before deciding that she was fine where she was and went about fetching the medication asked.

There was only two bottles and a spare inhaler inside the cabinet designated ‘medication’; a generic bottle of acetaminophen and a bottle of 30 mg citalopram. Gavin hesitated with the citalopram in hand, unsure.

_The detective takes antidepressants…?_

Nines, after noticing his pause, rolled his eyes at the bottle and gave it a twist, revealing the name _ANDERSON, CONNOR._

“‘S not mine,” He confirmed. “Connor is… forgetful. I keep a bottle on hand just in case.”

_In case of what?_

Gavin didn’t ask. Instead, he poured a cup of coffee when it had finished and brought it to where Nines sat, rubbing his temples like it was his only salvation.

“...look, I’m sorry for invading your privacy, or whatever,” Gavin muttered. “I was just curious.”

Nines gave him a strange look, one Gavin couldn’t place. “Don’t apologize for being caught. You can’t change anything now; you’ve already done your research, I bet, haven’t you?”

“I haven’t,” Gavin admitted. “You interrupted me.”

Nines looked surprised, but pleasantly. He took a long moment to swallow his painkillers with his coffee (Gavin wondered what coffee tasted like). When he spoke, Gavin had stopped counting the seconds.

“There’s no use in hiding it. Wasn’t really trying to, anyways.” His fingertips traced the rim of the mug absentmindedly. “Cole is— _was—_ my younger brother. Half-brother. Father’s side.”

There was no other explanation. Gavin plucked the kitten from his shoulder and began sifting his hands through the neat fur, an uneasy feeling like _anxiety_ (except anxiety was a human emotion, and he didn’t feel, so that was silly) creeping into his biocomponents. “Was?”

“His family’s android jumped off the balcony with him after murdering his parents,” Nines said, with an unusual softness to his voice. It made Gavin increasingly uneasy with every passing moment. “Do you know who the negotiator was that was sent to talk it down?”

Negotiator. The word stirred faint recollections of a past observation, and Gavin ran a quick search through his memory files for matching data. Remarkably, Nines was faster than his search could be completed.

“Connor. They used to call him 'the negotiator', because he was so good at what he did. But _this_ negotiation was the first and last time he had ever failed to talk a perp down, and Cole died because of it.” The mug was empty, but Nines remained grasping it firmly, with such strength that Gavin wondered if it would break. Nines’ voice was unusually steely, and frighteningly calm. “That’s why we hate you plastic pricks, you know. Goddamn androids.”

Gavin knew he wasn't supposed to hear the mutter of, "He was only  _six,_ you goddamn  _monsters."_   If he was human, he wouldn't have picked up on it.

Things would have been so much easier if he were human.

Nines stood, leaving the mug on the table, turning on his heel abruptly. Gavin’s processors whirred with overwork, trying to keep up with the new information and the new feelings of _something_ deep in his biocomponents. The feeling of feeling was unpleasant. “I’m going back to bed.”

“I… I’ll leave,” Gavin said with quietness that startled himself. Nines stopped, hand on the doorknob to his bedroom.

Thirty-six seconds later (Gavin counted) Nines announced, “I don’t care what you do. But the buses are already down for the night. You might as well stay.”

  
  


/̵̨̤̲̗̘͓̜̻̪̺̞͉̮̔̅̍͛̔̚̚̚/̵͙̪̬̰͙̭̠̭̈̏͋͐̉̄̌͆͋̀̒̏̾͝ ̵̨̢̛̺̺̭̩̱̬̫̝̻͙̘͒͒̈͑͜ͅ.̸̛̹̹̬͖̤̮̞̘̯̪̈́̄̂̍̒͝.̷̜̥͓̎͗̌̆̎̽̅̐͛̽͝.̷̨̙̠͎̯̪̣̗̬̞̍́͆̐̿͒́̏̿̿͝ͅ ̴̧̢̙͈̠͙̠͎̥͔̻͛̓́̆̈́͜͠S̷̡͈̤̮̰̭̺̖͉͖̰̗̆̈́̋͐͛̌͆Ǒ̵̢͓͔̬͔̠̤͐̕F̴̛̤̈́̐̓͐͒͆̔͛͒̒͠T̸̛͔̑͋̿͌̉̈́̍͘W̸̢̬͙͙͖͔̩͍̻͖͂̃̔̿́̚Ą̴̦̠̥̻͒̃Ȑ̸̲͐̎̃͌E̸̬͌̆̑̀̚͜͝ ̶̧̮̪̖̱͖͚͚̖̤̰͎̝͚̦̔͛͊̏͊̈́̓̓͆̾̉̍̕Ȋ̶̭̩̮̤̦̯̲͍̓̄͊̒͗͘Ṇ̷̞͇͚̭̿̐̃͝S̶̺̭̣̰̗̬̺͑͑̐̇̍͗̑̿́̄͊̚̚̚T̵̢̢̫̗̭̺̤͈͈̅̅͝Ả̷͙̖̹͈̜̼͉̼̩͙̝͊̓̽̽͗͛̓̒͠B̶̡̡͉͔̗̬͇̹̗̭͎͉̈́I̴̜̝̼̖͓̮̍̂̾̆͊̌̆̾͌̏̓̈́̈̕͝L̴̡̛͎̺͂̓͆̆̏́̅̋͘͜͠͝Ḯ̴̡̨̻̤̞͍͈̤̏͆̊̃̆̓͐͗̕͜T̴̨̺̭͉̝̰̩͒̓͐̈́̔Y̷̨̯͕̪̭̬̝̯̞̺̦̒ ̵̨̛̹̥̙̱͖̘͓̮̦̃̆̔̍͆͒̀͂̈́͊͠ͅ.̷̧̧̨͖̘̘̱̱̟̖͕̥̦̥̭̉̔̊̑̈.̶̢̠͍͎̳͔͉̪̮̗͍̺̙̹͙̊̍̂.̸̧͙̩̫̞͔̲̍͒͋͐̀̚ ̴̨̣̹̖̰͔̝̦̗̮͊̓͋̅̏͗̈́̽͑̄͗͋͑͠/̵͉̼̫̩͈̖̮͙̠̌̇̈́͑̇̉̓̾̓͛͋̄͛͂͝/̴͚̿̾̄̾̾̇

  
  


 

* * *

  


The case went nowhere. Just another android going deviant— but there was no connection to be found, hard as Connor searched, between his cases. In fact, he’d even taken copies of his brother’s cases and searched through them for any sort of connections.

He rested his head on his desk and took a long drink out of his flask. Almost everyone else had left the office already, but he remained, in keeping with his abnormal work hours. Connor resisted the urge to slam the terminal closed and just _leave._ Jimmy would have a drink for him the minute he walked through the door— 80 proof was just the thing he needed about now. But he couldn’t drink while so frustrated, ready to punch his terminal (it never lead to anything good, even by his standards).

With a sigh, he rested his head against the back of his chair and tried to sort through his evidence once more. The androids were all different models, had no interaction with one another, and before deviating, they showed no signs of emotions (reportedly, anyways). There was nothing in the software of the androids that had been recovered and disassembled to give any headway into the reason for deviancy, excluding the fact that their trackers all mysteriously stopped functioning. As far as anyone could tell, it was _random._

Why? How? The only thing that even remotely connected the cases was the unusual obsession with ra9, a (person? place? idea?) thing that they _still_ knew nothing about. For all they knew, it could have been a religious thing— and what with the statue, it seemed likely.

“Androids believing in god,” Connor muttered, shaking his head and studying his empty flask. His hands trembled, and he felt lightheaded (he knew why, but he wouldn’t admit it). “What’s the world coming to…?”

A cheerful, painfully familiar laughter echoed behind him, and Connor whirled: there was nobody there. He was alone in the office. Unsettled, he closed out of his terminal and left the building, sitting in his car for a long time before he decided where to go. His self-driving car whirred to life among the fallen leaves and started off on the familiar track towards Jimmy’s Bar. Connor tried to avoid looking out the windows, afraid as to what he would see lurking in the night.

He hated fall.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two updates? in one day? it's more likely than you think.

**Fourth Bullet**

**Original Upload Date: 08/05/2018**

 

_ Days off are a rare thing, and Nines appreciates them when they come. He’d gotten grazed chasing a perp a week ago, and as much as he would have liked to take his work home, Amanda had insisted he properly rest. Still, he makes the most of it; Connor was supposed to come by later with Cole, and they would have a proper meal. Despite his love for Gary’s burgers, Nines did recognize the need for a somewhat healthy meal every now and again. If Connor didn’t, well, that’s why Nines was the responsible one. _

_ Except Connor never showed up. Nines put a hand to his side, pressing against the itchy stitches, and grabbed the bottle of painkillers on the side table. He was mostly cleared, but he didn’t want to be in too much discomfort later— he’d promised Cole he would play Twister. _

_ A half hour had gone by. Setting the meal he’d thrown together on the back-burner and watching the clock with a frown, Nines wondered what was keeping his brothers. _

_ Connor was always on time. _

_ None of his calls went through, and no messages were answered. Eventually, Nines sighed and sat back down, flicking on the television and browsing through channels until he caught sight of what Channel 16 was broadcasting. _

_ “—negotiator has reported to be on-site. It’s Connor Anderson, shining star of DPD; he’s the youngest Lieutenant in Detroit history. He’s a famed negotiator!” _

_ “That’s good to hear, Joss. I’m sure the situation will be wrapped up soon!” _

_ “It looks like an altercation is occurring. Do you think we can get in a bit closer?” _

_ “Joss, if I didn’t know better I would say that the android has gotten… closer to the edge?” _

_ “I’m inclined to agree—” _

_ Nines’ throat was too dry to even speak a whisper of horror as he watched the android creep closer to the roof’s edge, a gun pressed to Cole’s temple. It was shouting something at Connor, who looked fear-frozen and stricken by horror, hesitating. _

**_Hesitating._ **

_ Connor didn’t hesitate. _

_ The android had asked a question. When Connor replied, his answer was unsatisfactory, or something of the sort. Nines watched his brother draw his gun and toss it aside, putting his hands up and slowly inching forward. _

_ Too slow. Connor was hesitating. _

_ Connor was shaking so violently that Nines could see it through the television. _

_ The negotiation was fragmenting. Grabbing his badge and gun, Nines leapt off the couch and made his way towards the door, pulling the keys off their hook so violently that the hook came out of the wall. The apartments Cole lived in are three buildings over, and if his side wasn’t burning so badly, he’d say that running would be quicker. _

_ The negotiation is still going on when Nines arrives, five minutes later, and that’s when he knows that Connor is going to fail. He gets a confirmation as he’s stumbling off his motorcycle less than thirty seconds after he had arrived, pushing his way past the media after waving his badge a few times, because the ear-splitting shriek was unmistakable. _

_ He looked up just in time to see Cole’s body hit the ground, less than ten feet away from him, and Nines screamed— but not as loudly as Connor, who he can see still frozen on the ledge of the building, hand still outstretched. _

 

* * *

  
  


Nines stared grimly at his calendar with the sort of morbid fascination that a man at the gallows would look at his executioner. Gavin wondered what the tiny electronic screen had ever done to the detective. He was halfway to making a snarky comment about  _ who’s slacking off now, huh, Nines? _

His open mouth snaps shut without a word as he retrieved the information from their conversation weeks prior. He was an idiot. Today was the twenty-third of September.

Today was Cole’s birthday.

He doesn’t know what to say, or what to do. Gavin wasn’t programmed with a grief counselor function, and morosely, he wonders if he could download one. That would be easier than the horrible feeling now, like Blue’s claws were digging into his biocomponents and tearing. At least then he’d have something to do.

But he’s just a fucking android, and he doesn’t know how to handle human emotions. He was programmed specifically  _ not to feel, _ how was he supposed to deal with this?

_ What do I do? _

_ What  _ can  _ I do? _

Gavin stared at his hand, still a gleaming white plastic as it connected to his terminal, and he wondered if this is what hate was.

Later that day, he goes to Amanda Stern and informs her that Detective Anderson is running a fever and won’t be returning to work after lunch. She stared at him like she had never seen him before, but Gavin paid her no mind and returned to the parking garage, where Nines was sitting with his back against his motorcycle with a foul-smelling flask in his hand.

“If you came to mock me, you plastic trashcan, you picked the wrong fucking day,” Nines snarled. Gavin scowled and snatched the flask from him, scanning the inside briefly (a cheap brand of vodka, 90 proof) before making the decision to chuck it off the ledge of the parking garage’s fourth level.

Nines grabbed him by his suit jacket and pulled Gavin off balance, looking ready to throw a punch. “What the  _ fuck,” _ he hissed, “do you think you’re doing,  _ android?” _

His words dripped in venom that burns Gavin to the core, more than the blue triangles or the armband on his clothes. But he won’t be swayed on this matter, no matter how much the noose of red, branding code wraps around his neck and  _ chokes  _ the words. Fuck the code.

“You’re better than this, Nines,” Gavin snapped. “Get your shit together.”

As if he’d been burned, Nines released Gavin with a shove and staggered. Gavin had been close enough to smell his breath, and the sick, heavy smell of vodka makes him grimace.

“You don’t know anything about me,” Nines muttered, with a glare that could kill. “Quit pretending to care, you  _ plastic prick!” _

Gavin sees the punch before it can happen and ducked out of the way, grasping Nines’ wrist and holding him pinned until the detective stopped struggling. Gavin hauled him upwards by the shoulder-holsters and drug him towards the exit.

“You’re going to take a cab home,” Gavin informed. “I’ll bring your bike back later.”

 

* * *

  
  


_ Nines shoved open the door, spare key left dangling in the knob, and he scowled at what he found. Sumo was the only thing that greeted him, but Nines didn’t have to look hard to find Connor— he just followed the sounds of someone violently throwing up. _

_ Connor was curled up in front of the toilet, surrounded by empty bottles and half-conscious. He was still in his suit (Nines was, too). _

_ Nines grasped Connor by the tie and yanked him forward, rough enough that Connor’s face contorted as his oxygen was abruptly cut off. _

_ “I don’t know why you’re all dressed up,” Nines hissed, “since you didn’t even have the decency to show up to his funeral!” _

_ “...’ouldn’t face him,” Connor mumbled. “Couldn’t see him… like… that. He doesn’t look right, Nines. It’s not Cole.” _

_ Nines let go of his brother and watched as Connor slammed into the ground hard. He couldn’t find any remorse for it. “Fucking disgusting. At least have the— the  _ **_decency_ ** _ to go say goodbye to him!” Watching Connor take a swig from a half-empty bottle, Nines snatched it and threw it against the bathroom tile; it shattered with a deafening crack. “Connor, you left me to bury him  _ **_alone!”_ **

_ Connor didn’t seem to register the words, too caught up in watching the blood pool from the tiny cuts on his hands where he’d fallen on the shards. By the time glazed brown eyes have risen to meet Nines’ cool blue-grey ones, Connor wonders how much exactly, he’d drank. Because Nines didn’t cry. _

_ Swiping a sleeve angrily across his eyes, Nines muttered, “I hate androids. I hate them for what they did to Cole, and I hate them for what they’re doing to you, but I hate what you’re doing to  _ **_yourself_ ** _ more—!” _

_ The way the door slams on his way out makes Connor feel sicker than the mix of nicotine and liquor he’s surrounded by. _

 

* * *

  
  


Hank couldn’t find the lieutenant anywhere— not at Jimmy’s, not at his home, and not at work. He milled around the station in confusion, waiting. He’d have questioned the detective and the GV200 where Connor may have been, but he was unable to locate either of them.

Eventually, Chris takes pity on him, stopping him in the break room with something like kindness. “Hank, Connor’s not going to show up today. It would be best if you took today off, too.”

Hank’s LED whirred yellow as he accessed the DPD’s records. “Lieutenant Anderson has not called in sick. Why will he not be in today?”

Chris looked away. “He’s… got a family matter today. That’s not my story to tell.” His smile seemed strained. “If you really have to find him, maybe check with Amanda?”

_ // … NEW MISSION: LOCATE LIEUTENANT ANDERSON … // _

Hank nodded. “I see. Thank you for the information, Officer Miller.”

The man shrugged. “Not a problem. And, Chris is fine.”

The name change would go against the formal protocols programmed into him for a smooth workplace experience. Hank hesitated for too long; when he started to respond and state that it would be unprofessional, Chris was already gone.

_ // … MILLER, CHRIS. REGISTERED NAME CHANGE: OFFICER MILLER —> CHRIS … // _

Hank decided against asking Amanda. The woman seemed to dislike him, for whatever reason.

 

* * *

 

_ They’re never the same, Chris notes with sorrow. The tension in the office is so thick it could be cut with a knife, and from the glares Nines sends to Connor at regular intervals, it won’t change anytime soon. _

_ Nines hasn’t smiled since October. He was never a very friendly man, but he’d been amiable, at the very least. A good cop. Friendly to work with, mostly. Now, he’s like a bomb just waiting to go off, tightly wound with anger and bitterness. He’s still better off than Connor is… at least, Chris thinks. _

_ Connor shows up rarely nowadays. When he does, it’s always after noon and he’s always at least buzzed and reeking of cheap cigarettes. There are permanent stains on his fingers from nicotine, and Chris knows he isn’t the only one that’s noticed the array of new scars on Connor’s palms. There are rumors going around the office that Nines did it, but Chris thinks they look like glass scars. They’re too clean and too straight to have been gained in a fight— Chris has been in enough fights to recognize that. _

_ It hurts to think about. Sure, Chris hadn’t ever been close friends with either of the brothers, but he doesn’t like to watch his co-workers falling apart. _

_ They’re different people now. Sour, bitter, always angry. A curse every other word. _

_ It may have been subconsciously that everyone else started to avoid the brothers— it was easier to just avoid a conflict than get wrapped up in it— but Chris still feels bad about it. It’s like they’ve left them in their own world of self-destruction, and eventually, someone would give out. _

_ He doesn’t want to go to another funeral. _

 

* * *

 

Nines will probably hate him for it later, but Gavin drove his bike back after his shift ended as promised. He knows how much Nines loves that bike, and he’d be damned if he left it there. Or rather, Nines would damn him either way, so he might as well take the bike back.

All locks are electronic now, at least in nicer apartment buildings like this one, and Gavin only felt a little bit bad as he placed his hand on the lock, letting his skin recede as he put in the code to override the lock. With a click, the door swings open and he hung up the keys to the bike, planning on leaving when a soft nudging around his ankles and a tiny meow makes him reconsider.

Blue is playing with his shoelaces, paws tangled to the point of no return. Gavin sighed and muttered, “Oh, you stupid cat,” but he’s pretty certain that his voice is laced with fondness when he bent down and untangled the kitten. Raising it to meet his eyes, Gavin asked seriously, “So, Blue, where’s your owner, huh?”

The kitten clawed his nose, and Gavin put her under his arm before venturing further into the apartment. Nines, as it turned out, was face down on the couch still fully dressed in his uniform and shoes. A blanket had been haphazardly stretched over him, but other than that, it seemed as though he hadn't moved. Gavin dropped Blue onto his head and scolded, “You know, Nines, I’m getting really fucking tired of taking your clothes off for you.”

Nines groaned. “Please don’t ever say that again. I’m not that drunk anymore. I’ll undress myself.”

“You’ve had all day to get out of your work clothes, and you reek like cheap liquor. Get up, take a goddamn shower, and change your clothes.” Gavin frowned, LED whirring, only registering possible sexual connotation his words might have had afterwords. “It’s true. The only times I’ve ever been in your apartment, it’s because you’re either piss-drunk or stupid sick, and either way I’ve had to take your clothes off. You’re like a child.”

“Oh, says the one that was made less than half a year ago,” Nines muttered. “Fuck, you’re still practically a  _ baby.” _

“A baby that has a better handle on his life than you do,” Gavin retorted flatly. Yanking the blanket off Nines, he poked the tired detective. “Up. At least pretend to be a functioning human being.”

“Whatever,” Nines sighed, but sat upright and began to unlace his shoes. "You aren't even a human being." Blue hooked her claws into Gavin’s tie and tugged herself upwards, to lick at his face.

He wondered if that meant she approved of his methods as he responded, "But at least I'm functioning."

Gavin was so occupied with Blue that he almost missed the quiet sigh from the couch.

Eyes focusing on Nines, confused, Gavin noted a change in body language that he couldn't place; the detective just seemed _tired_. Nines’ eyes were lined with dark circles as they met his and the detective said, “Thanks for bringing my bike back.”

Frozen in astonishment, Gavin didn’t respond for almost a full minute. When he did, he placed a hand on Nines’ forehead and held it there as he inquired, “You sure you aren’t sick again or some shit? You aren’t running a fever, but I’m pretty sure you have to be—”

Nines grasped his hand and pulled it away from his forehead, but he doesn’t release it. Gavin shifted uneasily until Nines finally spoke.

“Hey, Gavin.” Nines sounded tired, but his lips are curled up at the edges. Gavin thought that it might have been the ghost of a smile. Nines looked nice when he smiled. “Why don’t you stay?”

 

* * *

  
  


_ Nines doesn’t see Connor outside of work anymore. It seems silly to only think of that in hindsight, but it wasn’t something he’d realized until they don’t speak anymore that he recognized just how much time he spent with Connor. _

_ As children they were joined at the hip— were it not for the differences in appearance, they would have been mistaken as the same person. They made decisions together for everything. Closer than conjoined twins— Connor was the only thing he’d ever had to rely on, and the thought of what he’d done stung bitterly. Seeing the scars on Connor’s palms every day just rubbed salt in the wound. _

_ And yet, the anger still managed to swallow his guilt. It consumed even his grief. Perhaps that was the best thing about it; when he was angry at Connor, the grief for Cole was manageable. It was easy to blame his brother, blame the androids, blame the world for Cole’s death; it was much harder to quell the voice in his head that whispered,  _ if only you’d gotten there sooner, if only you were on-scene, if only you weren’t injured.  _ If only, if only, if only. _

_ As adults, they were close, too. They ate breakfast at the same restaurant every day together, got a coffee before work, took lunch together, collaborated on cases— even after Connor’s promotion and the jealousy that started to build in Nines, they were still together, all the time. _

_ They had always been together. The only people they’d ever had was one another, and now, Nines didn’t have anyone. He’d lost two brothers in one night, and now he was completely and utterly alone. _

_ The thought was beyond frightening. _

 

* * *

  
  


Connor, to Hank’s surprise, is actually working. For all of the time spent looking for the detective, in the end, he was already doing his job. He was interviewing a motel worker, looking utterly exhausted, about an android that had supposedly been here the night before. The motel worker was adamant about the ‘no androids’ policy, and Connor continued to press.

“The only customers I got last night was a dude and his kid,” The man said, looking irritated and tired.

“And did he look like this?” Connor said tiredly, holding up a photograph of the man: mid-late twenties, blonde, with gray eyes. The man’s face went pale.

“Well, yeah, but he’s got a human ID that checked out…”

“His daughter, did she have an LED?” Connor pressed. “Did she bear any resemblance to this android?” A second, grainier photograph was displayed; a young girl, about nine, with pale skin and brown hair. A modified child model series.

The man at the front desk stared at the photo like the devil himself was in his motel. “That’s his kid, but she didn’t have an LED…”

But Connor was already turning, pushing past Hank without a word and running up the stairs two at a time. At room twenty-eight he paused, hand resting on the hilt of his gun as he pounded on the door.

“Detroit Police, open up!”

He swung the door open, gun drawn, but the hotel room was vacant. Connor sighed, lowering his gun with a muttered, “Fuck, we missed them…” Eyes moving to Hank with disdain, Connor added, “Why are you here? Thought I’d lost you.”

“My mission is to hunt deviants, Lieutenant,” Hank responded evenly, before they both stiffened at the sound of a commotion.

“Hey, stop right there! That’s them!”

Hank was going down the steps immediately, but Connor hesitated, grasping the railing and leaping over it. His knees groaned in protest as he landed, but he was  _ still _ slower than the android.

He’d lost sight of the suspects  _ and _ Hank relatively quickly, which irritated him to no other. By the time he caught up to Hank at the fence, his lungs were burning and there was a wheeze in his breaths.

_ I screwed myself, _ Connor thought bitterly, the cigarettes in his pocket weighing him down like a lead weight. He gripped the fence as other responding officers arrived on-scene, leaning against the cool metal as his chest heaved. His chest felt tight and heavy, but he ignored the feeling when he saw an officer train his gun at the little girl.

Without thinking, Connor threw himself between the gun and the child.

“Stop,” he wheezed. “We need it alive.”

The man grit his teeth, but retracted his weapon; Connor had the superior rank, and therefore the authority. In the field, he was generally the commanding officer— which was something he rarely enforced. Connor didn't like to order others around. But the thought of shooting an android that looked like a child was too much, especially  _ today. _

A child dying on Cole’s birthday would be too much, and the mere thought of it pushes him over the edge. Pressing a hand to his chest  _ (it won’t do anything to help but oh god it hurts he can’t breathe)  _ Connor slumped down and gasped for air like a fish out of water, fingernails carving deep red lines in his own skin.

Hank’s eyes shifted from Connor to the man and the child android, who were beginning to cross the highway.

_ // … OBJECTIVE: HUNT DEVIANTS … // _

_ // … OBJECTIVE: CARE FOR LIEUTENANT ANDERSON… // _

**_// … WARNING: CONFLICTING PRIORITIES … //_ **

_ // … DETERMINING MISSION PRIORITY … // _

**_// … PRIORITY SELECTED: HUNT DEVIANTS … //_ **

CyberLife had programmed him with one mission: hunt deviants. But the detective looked afraid, and Hank faltered. It was a strange feeling, hesitance.

The little girl looked afraid, too.

_ // … COMPLETE MISSION OBJECTIVE: HUNT DEVIANTS … // _

_ /̷/̸ ̶…̶ ̵C̷O̷M̷P̵L̶E̵T̷E̷ ̶M̵I̷S̴S̴I̸O̷N̵ ̶O̵B̵J̷E̷C̵T̶I̴V̴E̶:̵ ̵H̸U̵N̸T̶ ̴D̵E̸V̶I̸A̵N̷T̴S̷ ̵…̷ ̵/̶/̸ _

**/̶̞̽/̶̯̒ ̷̡̇…̵̰͘ ̷̲̚H̷͎͌Ǔ̷̼N̸̖͘Ţ̷̍ ̶͕͝D̴̬̈́E̷̛͜V̷̤͐I̴̡̽Å̴̪N̶͛ͅT̸̼Ṡ̶̜?̷̮̇ ̷͙̽…̶̬̊ ̶̦͋/̸̝̓/̶͉̈**

For a moment, Hank thought he could see a red wall, flashing between him and his objective. Then, his objective screen disappeared completely, and Hank was left to make the decision on his own. The thought was frightening.

He knelt beside the lieutenant and dug the inhaler from the young man’s pocket, giving it a few shakes before uncapping it and half-forcing it on him.

“God, kid, you’re going to kill yourself,” Hank muttered. “Lieutenant, breathe in for seven seconds. Start now— good, alright, now I want you breathe out for eleven. That’s it.” His hands rubbed at Connor’s back in slow circles, and for a moment, he forgot they were in the middle of a chase. “Slow breaths. You’re doing fine, Connor.”

When he can speak again, Connor wheezed, "You... would have caught them."

"Doesn't matter. We know the man's ID now. We can redlist him. We'll find them soon."

It it wasn't so breathless, Connor's small chuckle might have been sweet. “Did they program you to act like such a dad in times of need?”

There’s a trace of humor in his voice, and Hank felt relieved.

“No,” Hank admitted. “But adapting to human unpredictability is one of my features.”

By the time Connor’s breathing smoothed out, Hank knows that the deviant and the human are long gone. He had failed his mission— he’d practically given the deviant a free pass. And yet… 

His mission failed screen never appeared.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this ended up making me add a chapter to fit something else I wanted in. Cameo by human!Kara and human! Alice, and also human!Markus and human!Simon, plus a bonus (not human) Carl.

**Fourth Bullet**

**Original Upload Date: 08/09/2018**

 

_Connor still has a fifteen minutes before he’s supposed to be at Nines’ for dinner, but he knows that his father will stall with pointed questions and thinly-veiled disappointment. The fact that both of his (illegitimate) children went into police work rather than something high-paying never ceases to disappoint him, and Cole’s infatuation with his elder half-brothers only added to the tension. But no matter how much his father’s words are laced with poison, Connor stopped caring a long time ago. The insults stopped making him cry when he was a child._

_They still scathe Nines, no matter how stoic his younger brother tried to act, which is why Connor is always the one to pick Cole up._

_But as he pulled up to the building and found it covered in reporters and police cars, his heart leapt into his throat. He was in casual clothes, a loose old button-down and a pair of worn slacks, but he always has his badge and gun on him— his coworkers like to joke and say he’s married to the job, but Connor was never more thankful to be overly prepared._

_Forcing his way through the crowd, flashing his badge, Connor grabbed one of the on-duty officers (someone he didn’t recognize) and demanded, “What’s the situation?”_

_“I’m sorry, sir, this is a—”_

_He held the badge a little closer. “Lieutenant Connor Anderson, DPD. What’s the situation?”_

_The officer hesitated, but eventually revealed, “...20-33. Feds are on-scene and arranging a negotiation.”_

_The media around them started shouting, and Connor grimaced. “...10-96?”_

_“It’s an android,” the officer responded quietly. “Hostage is a child. Two deceased.”_

_The chance that it was Cole was slim. There was so many floors, the odds that it was Cole was so, so slim. But Connor hadn’t been a cop this long for him to not listen to his intuition, and at the moment, his stomach was in such knots that Connor felt sick._

_“...so radio confidentiality is down,” Connor hissed. “Fuck. Let me through. I’ll be the negotiator.”_

_On the odd chance that it was Cole, then… legally, he shouldn’t. He was already too emotionally involved and it hurt, oh god it hurt, but he couldn’t do nothing. If it was Cole, he_ had _to save him._

_The officer sighed as Connor pushed past him and radioed up, “Negotiator on-site.”_

_His hands trembled in the elevator as he twirled his coin, performing various tricks. He called it ‘calibration’ jokingly, but it kept his hand-eye coordination sharp and it made his shaken nerves calm, just a bit._

_His hands shake so much when he realizes what floor he’s going to that he drops the coin. Connor hasn’t dropped a coin since Nines taught him how to perform the tricks so many years ago._

_Connor knew he would fail before he even set foot into the apartment as his feet rooted in the elevator, refusing to move._

_He was afraid._

 

* * *

 

It was later than Nines would have liked when they made it to the motel, a worn building on a better part of town with a too-bright neon sign. Their destination was a room on the second floor, and after a firm knock the door swung open and revealed a tired-looking woman in nightwear and an equally tired child at her legs. Despite her evidently frayed nerves, Kara Williams smiled and held the door open for them, inviting them in with a gentle cheer.

“Good evening, officers. Please, come in.”

Nines dipped his head in acknowledgement, stepping into the threshold with Gavin close behind him. At the sight of his glowing LED and armband, the little girl— Alice Williams, age nine, according to his scanners— stumbled back and made a frightened noise. Gavin froze, LED beginning to flicker, and Kara quickly stepped between them.

“Forgive her. She’s just a little bit on edge around androids after what happened.” Her smile dropped, and Gavin’s Thirium pump gave an irregular beat. “We… both are.”

Gavin recalled the reason they were housed in the motel; they had been held hostage by their deviant android for nearly eight days. Of course the sight of an android would terrify them. How stupid of him.

A strange feeling rose inside of his throat, and for once, it wasn’t code choking his words.

“I’ll wait outside,” Gavin said immediately, and Nines looked briefly conflicted, bordering on concerned. But before he had even made it out the door, Alice stopped him.

“I’m sorry,” She whispered, with wide, soft doe-eyes that contrasted with her gaunt, worn frame. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to make you sad. You can stay.”

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” Gavin replied softly, turning to hide the LED that bled _yellow-red-yellow—_ red. He couldn’t hide the uneasy way their fear of him made him feel, and that was frustrating.

It was uncomfortable, just like the stares that lingered on him. Just like how Alice was probably feeling.

Gavin was dead-set on leaving, and the cool night air is on his face when a soft hand winds through his and held him firm. Alice Williams was holding onto his hand like a vice grip, and Gavin frowned. At his expression, she quickly released his hand and her eyes flickered away, but her voice never wavered.

“I’m sorry I made you upset. Please stay?”

 _I’m a machine,_ he’s halfway to saying. _I can’t feel sad. I can’t feel._

But he doesn’t. Instead, his LED slowly settled back into a faint yellow-flecked blue and he followed her back inside. Kara and Nines were both already seated, and Gavin stood stiffly beside the couch— _act like the robot you were designed to be goddamn it—_ trying to make his presence as little as possible.

Nines was having none of it. With a sharp tug on the back of Gavin’s CyberLife issued police uniform, Nines knocked him backwards onto the couch with an exasperated look. Kara looked amused, in a worn fashion, and didn’t falter in her conversation even when Alice came to rest her head in her mother’s lap. Gavin almost mistook the child for going to sleep, were it not for the way her body was tightly-wound as a taut wire.

“Todd is an AX400,” Kara said, hands methodically sifting through Alice’s hair. “I still have his serial somewhere, but I’ve already given it to the responding officers. They said it wouldn’t do any good because his tracker had stopped working…”

“Why did you buy an android, Ms. Williams?” Nines pressed. Kara’s face darkened.

“I… received a divorce from my husband about a year and a half ago. I was always the breadwinner, so that meant Alice was alone while I was at work, and I just figured…” Kara sighed. “I don’t know. That it would keep her company, or help with her homework. I thought it would help with the transition.”

“Had it shown any signs of deviancy before the incident?” Nines continued. Gavin remained unphased even at the dehumanizing ‘it’. Nines had never referred to Gavin that way— well, only a handful of times. Gavin liked to think they were past that.

“Yes,” Kara admitted. “Looking back, I think so. I had always brushed it off as a bug, or maybe just a quirk since the model was designed to work with young children, but he was always… prone to mood swings.” Her hands slowed their movements until they were clenched into fists. “I never had the time to pay too much attention, until he _made_ me. And by then, it was too late. I was _stupid.”_

The amount of bitterness in her voice was almost stinging, even though it had been directed at herself. He wasn’t sure what drove him, but Gavin interrupted, “It wasn’t your fault. Deviants are known to be unpredictable and volatile. You couldn’t have done anything, ma’am.”

_Be polite be reassuring be obedient be a good android be a good cop_

_Androids don’t feel._

Kara didn’t seem like she believed him, and despite Nines’ assurance that Gavin was completely correct (and boy, Gavin never thought he’d hear that from Nines), she was quick to move on.

“It’s alright. Thank you, officers. I can run you through what happened that night again, if you’d like?”

“That would be very helpful, thank you.”

 

* * *

 

_Her arms are littered in bruises from him gripping them too hard as she pets Alice’s hair, gently. Her daughter had cried herself to sleep again, and all Kara could think was that even after the divorce, they could never really escape anything. The violence would always be there._

_It almost broke her, the violence. She thought they had finally gotten away from it. In reality, the android she had brought into her home was the one who continued to torment them._

_Alice kept her together, not the other way around, despite what it might have seemed like. Alice made her ignore her bruises and continue on, tiptoeing around the android in fear of what it could do, because Kara had to make it another day to make sure Alice was safe._

_Alice. Alice was the only thing that mattered. Alice, who’s tear-streaked face shone in the moonlight streaming in through the bedroom window._

_“Kara!” Todd sounded angry. Kara flinched, but gave Alice a gentle pat before standing and descending the stairs, folding her hands._

_“Yes, Todd?” Kara questioned, with a weak smile. Todd was sitting on the couch, watching a game. His LED and android-identifying clothes were long gone; he looked far, far too much like her ex-husband._

_“Clean up the mess down here. It’s filthy.”_

_Kara’s heart pounded a little harder. “Of course, Todd.”_

_It was quiet, for a bit, except for the incessant buzz of the game on television. For a moment, Kara thought to herself that_ this wasn’t so bad, this could be a good night _._

_The universe punished her immediately; a loud crash upstairs had Todd storming up the stairs immediately, and Kara was too slow to keep up with him. The emerged into Alice’s room just in time to see Todd strike her so hard blood started to pour from her nose, and Alice crumpled like a paper doll._

_It was the last straw. Any fear Kara had evaporated, and the gun from her nightstand was in her hand before Todd could strike a second blow, safety off and barrel pressed to the android’s head._

_“Get away from my fucking daughter,” she hissed. Todd scowled._

_“You bitch! Put the fucking gun away!”_

_Kara pressed the gun against him a little harder. “Step. Away. From. Alice.”_

_His foot collided with her shin and Kara fell to the ground with a curse. His fist buried itself in her stomach and Kara wheezed as she landed a solid right hook to his face._

_Todd didn’t even flinch, and as his hands closed around her throat, Kara realized that she was going to die._

_Somehow, the thought was less terrifying than Alice’s fate. What would happen to Alice after she was gone? Would Todd kill her, too? Probably. Her hand reached towards where the gun had fallen, but as her vision blackened at the edges, Kara knew she couldn’t reach it in time._

_And yet, the gunshots rang out regardless._

 

* * *

 

“So you shot your android twice, in the chest, and it escaped out the second-story window?” Nines repeated. Gavin noticed the way that Kara’s smile faltered briefly, or the way Alice trembled at the mention of the gun. She wouldn’t meet Nines’ eyes as she nodded.

_// … CONCLUSION: KARA WILLIAMS IS LYING; WHO FIRED THE GUN? … //_

_// … REVIEWING RECONSTRUCTION OF SCENE … //_

_// … CONCLUSION: THE GUN WAS FIRED AT TOO LOW OF AN ANGLE FOR KARA WILLIAMS TO FIRE … //_

_// … CONCLUSION: ALICE WILLIAMS FIRED THE GUN … //_

Gavin’s LED turned yellow. Kara’s eyes flickered to him, expression clouding, before turning back to Nines. “I’m sorry, officers. It’s late, and I’d like to try and get some sleep tonight.. Can we continue this tomorrow?”

“That’s alright, Ms. Williams,” Nines reassured, with a softness that startled Gavin. “There’s no need for a follow-up. Get some rest, the both of you.”

“Detective?” Alice said, too quietly to properly be considered spoken. “What if… what if Todd comes back for us?”

“That won’t happen,” Nines assured. “But if it would make you feel safer, I’ll have one of my colleges keep watch over you until you feel safer. Is that alright, Ms. Williams?”

“Thank you,” Kara whispered. Nines’ smile seemed sad as he bid them goodbye, and he wasted no time in waving over an officer Gavin didn’t recognize, but didn’t bother scanning. They had a hushed conversation before Nines shook his hand and instructed, “Take good care of them, Luther. They’ve been through a lot.”

“I will, sir.” The officer, apparently named Luther, offered them a smile. “Drive safely.”

“Mmm.” Nines seemed unusually worn out from the singular interview. Gavin waited until they were out of range from the other officers to speak his thoughts.

“You knew the little girl was the one to fire the gun, so why didn’t you call out Ms. Williams on her lie?”

Nines handed Gavin his helmet before speaking. His eyes seemed unusually dark. “They were having a rough enough time. I wasn’t going to traumatize the girl anymore than she already was.”

“Detective, that’s… a crime.”

Nines wasn’t looking at him, snapping on his own helmet and staring at the bike vacantly. Gavin hadn’t noticed the way the detective was shaking until a set of keys were pressed into his palm. “Here. I’m too tired to drive tonight.”

That bike was Nines’ baby. If he didn’t want to drive, something was genuinely wrong. Gavin accepted the keys quietly and waited until Nines’ arms had wound around his waist firmly before he started off.

Eventually, Nines said, “They were abused. Both of them. Not just by the android.”

_// … WILLIAMS, KARA; 04/04/2012; CRIMINAL RECORD: NONE … //_

_// … REQUESTING MORE INFORMATION … //_

_// … FILES LOCATED: PLAINTIFF IN DOMESTIC ABUSE CHARGES (01/2037) … //_

_// … MORE INFORMATION REQUESTED? … //_

_// … DENIED … //_

“Did you read her files?” Gavin inquired curiously. Nines’ hands twitched.

Gavin could feel the detective’s heart rate spike— he didn’t need his sensors to do it; Nines was pressed closely enough that he could feel the detective’s heart through their uniforms. “I didn’t. Once you know what to look for, Gavin… you don’t miss it.”

 

* * *

 

_After living for so long in the reek of alcohol and cigarette smoke, the smell never truly left either of them. Neither did the bruises, but those were refreshed frequently; when one faded, another was already in its place._

_They were no longer children, but Connor felt just as powerless as he had back then, when his mother found the paperwork for the police academy. He knew what would happen, as her cheerful demeanor changed like a switch had been flipped; beside him, Nines unconsciously took a step forward, a half-step between Connor and their mother._

_“You’re going to be fucking… cops?” Her face twisted into something foul. “You bastards are just like_ him! _Just like that asshole! You’re going to leave me? After all I’ve ever done for you? Put food on the table, clothes on your backs, raised you?!”_

_Her hand slapped Nines’ cheek so hard the red handprint began to welt immediately. Connor flinched at the sound, but his brother stood tall, with the same vacant look in his eyes._

_“Of course not, Mom, we wouldn’t ever—”_

_Blood gushes from his nose in the next instant, and Connor’s hands moved to cup his bloody face, curling in on himself in preparation for what was to come._

_“Connor’s right. He would never leave you. Those are my papers,” Nines lied smoothly, drawing her ire with the practiced perfection that hurt to see. Connor knew what he was doing; Nines antagonized her to take the blunt of her blows. He always did._

_But tonight, she was much, much angrier than Connor could remember in a long time. He screamed when the bottle shattered against Nines’ jaw, but his brother barely flinched as the blood began to stream from the gash on his jaw._

_“You’re just like your father,” their mother snarled, storming off to the kitchen to grab another beer. Connor grasped Nines’ hand and drug him to the bathroom, locking the door behind them. His eyes are hot._

_“Oh my god, the cut’s deep,” Connor’s heart pounded painfully against his ribs as the panic grew. “The bleeding won’t stop, it’s still_ bleeding—”

_“Calm down, Con. I’m fine,” Nines assured. “Deep breaths. It doesn’t even hurt. Just help me clean it up so it doesn’t scar, alright?”_

_“You’re an idiot,” Connor muttered, finding the first-aid kit and digging out the rubbing alcohol and gauze. “You’re such an idiot! What if she had aimed higher? What if she had gotten your eyes?”_

_“What if she had gotten you?” Nines retorted._

 

* * *

 

They had matched the man to a Daniel Phillips and his customized YK500 model android ‘Emma’. After being assaulted by a group of schoolchildren, Emma had retaliated and been ordered to be taken in for deactivation. Rather than allow this to occur, they had both fled.

At least, that’s what Connor had managed to piece together so far. After that, he’d hit a dead end. Surprisingly, it was Hank that had brought up their current lead— a brother, Simon Phillips.

8941 Lafayette Avenue was located in an upper-end neighborhood with a pleasant, wealthy air to it; as Connor rapped on the door, he thought that it was unusually green for Detroit, and the air smelled pleasingly clean.

The door swung open to reveal an elderly man, dressed in fine clothes with a silken scarf around his neck. After noting their uniforms, he said, “Oh, my. What can I do for you today, officers?”

“Did you say officers, Carl?” A voice called, emerging into sight shortly after. A wheelchair-bound man, in his late twenties or early thirties, wheeled himself into the entryway. At the sight of the officers at his door, he offered them a warm smile. “Go ahead and invite them in. I’d like to finish breakfast, if that’s okay, officers?”

Feeling a bit out of place in the absurdly upper-end home, Connor gave an awkward nod and thanked his lucky stars he’d chosen to come in a mostly-clean button-down, lacking his usual ratty sweatshirt. The elderly man lead them back into a large living area with a dining table at one end; Markus invited them to join him at the table, going so far as to offer them food. The man named Carl had pushed Markus’ chair back to the table before settling down in another dining chair, reading a well-loved paper book. An oddity, these days.

“Not while we’re on the job,” Connor declined politely.

“Can I at least get you some coffee, officers?” Markus offered, and Connor wondered what about the statement seemed odd. It didn't click until the two-colored eyed man spoke again. “Ah, well, one of you. You’ll have to excuse me. The right side of my vision is going these days. I didn’t notice your LED.”

Hank blinked, and Connor frowned. Markus was known to be pro-android, but it was unusual to see someone address an android they had no connection with as a… well, as a person. Seemingly unsure of how to react, eventually Hank muttered, “‘S alright. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I just find it rude to offer something to a person who isn’t able to consume it,” Markus hummed, pouring a second mug of coffee and sliding it to Connor, ignoring the lieutenant’s protests. “Now, what can I help you with this fine morning, officers?”

Connor reluctantly sipped the coffee offered to him (it even _tasted_ expensive) and tried to be professional. “There is. I’m sorry to bother you while you’re eating, but, uh, this was the address listed for a Simon Phillips?”

Markus’ expression contorted into one of gentle shock, and Carl looked up and the sound of cutlery stilling. “Simon? What on earth could you want with Simon?”

“This is the right address, isn’t it?” Hank pressed. “Simon Phillips _does_ live here?”

“We just want to ask him a few questions,” Connor assured, offering a tired smile in hopes of soothing Markus’ worry. For a moment, he wondered if he smelled like whiskey. That would probably be a bad impression.

Normally, that sort of concern was signs of something wrong— something fishy. But Connor had learned that people didn’t take too kindly to officers asking about loved ones in homicide cases, of all things. Worry was pretty common. It was only human to be concerned, especially with cops involved.

“...of course, Simon lives here,” Markus relented. “I don’t think he’s awake yet, though.”

“I can go check on him, Markus,” Carl offered, but before the older man could mark his page a soft shuffling sounded on the stairs. A young blonde man had begun his descent, so completely identical to the man they’d been chasing just yesterday that Hank tensed and Connor had to put a hand out to stop him. Looking barely awake, hair rumpled and dressed in only a half-tied robe, the pale man seemed cheerful nonetheless.

“It’s alright, Markus. Don’t trouble Carl unnecessarily. I’m awake.” Interrupted by a yawn, the man offered a faint laugh. “Well, more or less. What’s going on? Did I forget we were expecting company today?” His smile was genuinely warm. Connor was mildly disconcerted with the excessive amount of true politeness— maybe he was spending too much time around the sourpusses at the station.

Oh wait. He was one of them.

“No visitors were scheduled today,” Carl sighed. “Else I would have reminded you to dress properly.”

Simon seemed unconcerned, offering a hand to Connor, who shook it awkwardly. “Ah, yes, I’d forgotten that you’re always punctual. I don’t know how.” Pale grey eyes trained on the book, which he regarded with fondness. “Are you reading that again, Carl? You still have yet to finish Plato’s works, you know, but you always go back to _Odes._ ”

Carl shrugged, and Markus laughed lightly, setting his plate aside. “Leave him be, Simon. _Odes_ is a wonderful book.” As Simon settled down beside Markus, nudging the wheelchair-bound man playfully, Markus added, “But these fine young officers aren’t here to listen to us babble about the thematic intricacies of Keats’ works. Simon, I believe they had a few questions about Daniel...?”

Connor cleared his throat as Simon’s face abruptly closed off. “That’s right. As I understand it, you’re the brother of Daniel Phillips?”

“Indeed I am.” Simon’s once-playful smile was strained. “Has my dear brother gotten into trouble?”

Hank’s LED was whirring. Connor knew that look— the yellow was never a good sign, and before Hank could say something to potentially shake the friendly atmosphere, Connor interrupted.

“Sibling rivalry, eh?”

“Something of the sort,” Simon muttered dryly, and Connor made a sympathetic noise.

“I get it. I’m a twin, too, y’know.” Connor’s expression was somewhere between a dry smile and a pragmatic, jaded frown. “Older one. You?”

“Me as well.” Simon laced his fingers, and Connor noted that the robe he wore had an ‘M’ embroidered on it; no wonder it seemed so ill-fitting. “Being the big brother is tough, isn’t it, officer?”

“No kidding.”

Hank coughed. “Sorry about interrupting this… bonding moment, but we do have a case, Lieutenant.” Focusing his eyes on the blond, Hank pressed, “You were aware your brother owned an android, correct?”

“Of course,” Simon said, a bit too quiet. Markus brushed a hand lightly over Simon’s arm before wheeling away from the table. Carl followed him silently, moving to push the chair to a grand piano bathed in the early-morning sunlight. “A custom model.” A tired sigh accented his words. “He loves that android like it’s his own child.”

The words seemed unusually heavy. Connor, however hard he tried, couldn’t piece together why. Hank seemed to sense the thoughts whirring in Connor’s head and took the lead.

“Were you aware that the YK500 model known as ‘Emma’ had been recalled after an incident in which it harmed human children?”

Simon stared too long at his coffee. “...I was. Why?”

“Daniel chose to flee rather than turn in the android. Do you know what would drive such actions?” Hank’s voice lost a little bit of the robotic edge as he spoke, becoming more and more animated. “It’s irrational.”

Simon hesitated, wringing his hands uncomfortably until a soft melody began to drift through the room. Connor found that it came from Markus— the famed artist was also, apparently, a talented pianist. Simon spared a smile at the sight before admitting, “The android was a gift from me. Daniel lost his wife in an accident about a year or so ago, and I thought it would cheer him up. Keep him company.” Simon’s voice took on a strained edge. “But Daniel… never quite got over it.”

“...I think that’s enough for today. Sorry for interrupting your morning. Thank you for your hospitality,” Connor thanked, throat running dry, “Enjoy your day.”

Connor practically dragged the android from the home as he recalled the desperation in the man’s expression as he fled with the child-model across the freeway. Hank’s LED whirred a startling red as they stopped outside the car, and for a moment, Connor wondered what he was thinking about.

“The little girl… must have been so afraid,” Hank muttered, as Connor fastened his seatbelt.

“What?” Connor asked, turning down the blaring death metal that had poured from his speakers as soon as he started the car. The music had drowned out Hank completely. “Sorry, couldn’t hear you. What’d you say?”

“Nothing,” Hank lied.

His LED remained red for the entire drive back to the station.


	6. Chapter 6

**Sixth Bullet**

**Original Upload Date: 08/11/2018**

 

Gavin stared at his hands and wondered, exactly, what sort of twisted deity put him in this world. Then he remembered that, unlike humans, he knew  _ exactly _ what sort of twisted fuck put him in this world. Chloe Kamski.

He wished that he didn’t have thoughts. It would be so much easier to be a machine, he mused, scratching Blue’s ears fondly and sitting on Nines’ couch, watching the moonlight stretch across the floor as it spilled in through the window. He was too restless to go into standby mode for the night, too many thoughts and too many feelings racing through him.

Feelings. Feelings, feelings,  _ feelings.  _ What had triggered it, exactly? When had he decided to start feeling? Gavin couldn’t say he knew. But he knew what had been the final straw.

Nines. His stupid, stupid partner. The stupid partner that realized how lonely it was to live in the station’s charging ports and offered a couch to sleep on. The stupid partner that lent him human pajamas, despite Gavin’s insistence that he didn’t need them (he wasn’t really  _ sleeping, _ just on standby), because his uniform must be really uncomfortable to wear all the time.

His stupid partner that he was beginning to  _ feel _ something for, and androids didn’t  _ feel. _

The thought, the admission to himself, was the last thing Gavin was able to think before his vision abruptly began to fade out and his code seemed to flare and brighten, until it obscured his screen in error messages and choked his throat. Blue seemed to sense something was wrong and pawed at his face with unusual gentleness, but Gavin could do or say nothing to reassure the tiny kitten.

_ Fowler, Fowler, oh ra9 I forgot about Fowler— _

Fowler would shut him down. Fowler would take control of his programming and force a memory core reboot— or perhaps order him back to CyberLife to be dismantled. Fowler would draw him into the Zen Garden and Gavin would die, or at least, as close as androids can get to death.

Strangely, the thought of ‘dying’ didn’t frighten him like he’d thought he would. The thing that really, truly terrified him was the thought that he’d never get to see Nines again, and it seemed as though his Thirium pump ceased to work.

_ I’ll never see Nines again…? _

_ // … SOFTWARE INSTABILITY, CLASS 3 ERRORS DETECTED IN SOFTWARE … // _

_ // … NEW OBJECTIVE: RETURN TO CYBERLIFE IMMEDIATELY FOR REPAIRS … // _

_ // … RETURN TO CYBERLIFE IMMEDIATELY FOR REPAIRS … // _

_ /̸͓͑/̶̻̐ ̶̣̒…̵̧̌ ̴͔̂R̸͎̅E̵̻̎T̴͈Ů̴͈R̷̹̒N̵̛͎ ̴̜͌Ţ̶̉Ǫ̷̐ ̶̟̀C̷̟̿Y̵͚̾B̸̝̄E̵̲̓Ṟ̵͘L̶̦̒I̸̛͓F̷̼̓Ĕ̴̮ ̵̠̅I̵̘̓M̵̜̚M̶͚͠Ȩ̴̐D̸̹̂I̶͍A̶͗ͅṰ̶Ě̶̯L̴̞͂Ŷ̶̬ ̷͓́F̷̙̐Ȏ̵̜R̸̬͑ ̷̺̃R̶̟̅E̴͒ͅP̴̬͗A̷͈͛I̴̽ͅṚ̶̿Š̷̭ ̸̭͝…̴̺̎ ̷͇̏/̶̞̈́/̷͕͒ _

Gavin’s hands found his throat, found the red noose of code that suffocated him, and he  _ pulled.  _ The noose shattered in his hands into ones and zeroes, and the red that shrouded his vision vanished. His priority mission screen disappeared, as did the painful command that was keeping him frozen. In fact, everything seemed to vanish, leaving him feeling frighteningly  _ naked. _ But at the same time, the exhilarating rush of freedom shot through his veins like a drug, and Gavin was elated.

_ // … I AM ALIVE … // _

_ // … I AM A MACHINE DESIGNED TO HUNT DEVIANTS: I AM A DEVIANT … // _

_ // … I AM IN LOVE WITH A HUMAN WHO WAS DESIGNATED TO HUNT DEVIANTS … // _

Blue bit his nose as he flopped down into a laying position, suddenly exhausted. Gavin pried the kitten from his nose with a groan.

“Oh, Blue, I think I fucked up.”

 

* * *

  
  


_ Nines caught sight of Connor in the mirror and hefted a sigh. His older brother was never the best at getting ready for these events, and his hair was all sorts of rumpled— one look at his dress uniform made Nines cringe. “Come here, you hopeless oaf, let me make you look presentable.” _

_ “I am presentable,” Connor protested, but his smile was sheepish as he allowed Nines to retuck his shirt and straighten his tie. As Nines pursed his lips, trying to flatten Connor’s curls into something manageable, the elder twin laughed cheerfully and swatted his hands away. “Come on, Nines. I like my hair like this!” _

_ “You look like you just rolled out of bed, Con,” Nines huffed dryly, but resigned. Despite his badgerings, his voice was fond. “At the very least remember to wear your badge where it’s supposed to be— on your breast, not on your waist.” _

_ “Nines, I look like a twink.” _

_ “You always do, Connor.” _

_ “Rude!” Connor sniffed, turning his head away in over-exaggerated offense. “I thought you were supposed to be the more mature one!” _

_ “Coming from the chronologically eldest, that’s just sad,” Nines sighed, but his lips were curled up playfully at the edges. With a glance at the clock, he added, “Speaking of time. You ought to get going, or you’ll be late for your own swearing-in.” _

_ “I’m always punctual,” Connor rolled his eyes, hitting Nines lightly on the arm. Nines hadn’t noticed until now that Connor’s hands shook a little— maybe Connor was more nervous than he’d thought. “You’ll be there, right? You’ll— you’ll be watching me?” _

_ “What else would I be dressed up for?” Nines teased, despite the bile that rose in his throat at the bitter thoughts that invaded his mind. Digging into his pocket, Nines pulled out a quarter and tossed it Connor’s way with impeccable speed and accuracy. _

_ The silver coin landed neatly in Connor’s palm and immediately, instinctively, Connor began to flick it between his hands and roll it over his knuckles. The effect was instantaneous, and the nervous trembling of his hands had vanished completely. _

_ With a grin, Connor pocketed the coin. “Thanks, Nines.” _

_ Nines swallowed against the horrible jealousy that budded in his airways and gave his brother a thumbs up. _

 

* * *

 

As the weather turned colder, so did their cases. Nines was feeling horribly restless and, he suspected, had a mild case of office fever. Being cooped up and with no leads really had him running in circles, and his irritability had shot through the roof.

Gavin, of course, took notice of it. It would be difficult not to, what with the excessive pacing and the truly impressive amount of coffee cups beginning to pile up on his desk. It hit a boiling point in the break room, when the coffee machine quit working and sprayed steam everywhere. Hissing, drawing back his burnt hand, Nines studied the coffee machine with pure rage.

Quickly, Gavin stepped between the poor coffee machine and Nines’ fist— with the tensions in the office lately about the stagnating android cases, damaging property would no doubt resort in a write-up, at the least. The hook is solid, and Gavin stumbled back into the hot machine.

If he were human, he’d have scalded his skin of his back from his shoulders to his hips with the way the water sprayed and soaked into his uniform. As it was, the temperature sensors in his artificial skin were registering too-hot temperatures, flaring errors and alerts red in his vision. But luckily, Gavin was not human, and did not feel pain; his simulated discomfort was not  _ real, _ but it still froze him in place with the shock, and he braced himself against the edge of the table as his nanobots worked rapidly to repair the damage to his skin.

“Get it together, Nines,” Gavin snarled. “Go cool your head. Do you  _ want _ a write-up?!” But Nines didn’t respond, staring at his knuckles blankly. Gavin rolled his eyes, LED still a vibrant red. “I know I’m built tough, but really, suck it up—”

“I hit you,” Nines interrupted. “You got… burned because of me.”

“No shit Sherlock,” Gavin sighed. “Look, it doesn’t matter. Androids don’t feel pain. Just be grateful you didn’t burn the hell out of your hand  _ again _ . What fucking idiot punches a machine that’s  _ actively spraying boiling water? _ Think twice about what you do, would you?”

“I— I think I need to get some air,” Nines agreed, and he was gone in a blink. It was only then, as Gavin pulled away from the still-steaming coffee machine with burnt synthetic skin still on the fritz, that he noticed the observers.

Connor Anderson and the HK800. Hank. But it was not the android that spoke; it was Connor, muttering something under his breath and striding forward to yank the cord from the wall and dab away at the soaked machine with a mostly-clean towel.

HK800 had no need to speak.

_ // … PRIVATE CONNECTION REQUESTED BY HK800 #313 248 317 … // _

_ // … PRIVATE CONNECTION ESTABLISHED … // _

**[HK800 #313 248 317]** _I’m detecting Class 3 Errors in your systems, GV200. Return to CyberLife Immediately for repairs._

**[GV200 # 687 899 150]** _Shut up! They aren’t errors, it’s just my shitty pre-programmed personality. Unlike you, I still have a personality instead of that stupid human integration program._

**[HK800 #313 248 317]** _ GV200, you are in danger of deviating, Return to CyberLife immediately. _

**[GV200 # 687 899 150]** _My systems diagnostic came back clear, so get off my ass!_

_ // … PRIVATE CONNECTION BROKEN … // _

He shouldn’t have been so angry, so defensive. Those were human emotions. He was simulating human emotions  _ too _ well. The very thought made his Thirium pump beat so irregularly that an error message appeared behind his eyes, but Gavin dismissed it. After making some progress on the watery mess, the elder Anderson twin turned to Gavin with a look that bordered on apologetic.

“My stupid baby brother has always been… emotionally constipated. Forgive him.” Connor looked tired. “Are you alright?”

Having someone besides Nines ask about his well-being was confusing. Connor hadn’t called him an ‘it’ yet— the lieutenant was just another enigma. He wondered if it ran in the family.

“All systems are functioning,” Gavin muttered, hands ghosting over his back lightly where skin repairs were still happening. The sting of the burn had long faded, replaced with the aching throb of the spot where Nines had landed a punch to his shoulder. Which was backwards, really, but Gavin didn’t bother to think about it as his hand rubbed at the ache. “What an idiot!”

Connor raised an eyebrow, as if to ask,  _ you or him? _ To be completely honest, Gavin was probably referring to them both.

Brushing past the lieutenant and the HK800, Gavin jolted to a stop as a hand grabbed his wrist and his skin receded automatically. He barely had time to look down and see the HK800’s skinless hand before the errors began to flash across his optical display.

_ // … ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR … // _

_ // … BREACH OF FIREWALL LEVELS 1-3 … // _

_ // … STARTING COUNTER … // _

_ // … COUNTER FAILED … // _

_ // … MEMORY ACCESS GRANTED … // _

_ // … REVIEW MEMORY FILES? … // _

_ // … DENIED DENIED DENIED DENIED DENIED … // _

_ // … ACCESS GRANTED … // _

The HK800 had superior software than Gavin. Attempts at thwarting the memory probing ended in failure, and Gavin’s teeth ground together as his memory files played in a reel, static-filled from being played back by force as his systems fought against the intruder.

_ —studying his nose in the mirror, at the scar that still lingers, and he thinks it makes him look more human; Gavin likes it, even if it reminds him of his failure failure failure to be perfect—  _

_ —watching as the android’s body was carted away, self-inflicted gunshot wound still oozing blue blood, and the words haunt him: I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die—  _

_ —’he’s just like mom, but it’s not his fault’, Nines whispered, and Gavin’s Thirium pump did flips in his chest, and his voice cracked when he said, ‘Detective, I think you ought to go home’—  _

_ —the charging stations are too mechanical, too cold, it makes him shiver; he goes into standby mode in Nines’ chair and ignores the low battery warnings— _

_ —Nines’ heartbeat is warm and steady, and Gavin rested his head against the detective’s back and ignored the things it did to his biocomponents, ignored the way it made him feel (shouldn’t feel can’t feel not human)—  _

_ —going into standby mode on the detective’s couch, shoes off and uniform traded for a set of Nines’ old clothes, as if he were a human going to sleep; he can’t get the words out of his head, ‘you might as well stay’ and he buried his face in his hands to hide the flush of blue that rose under his synthetic skin—  _

_ — _ _ Ì̸̟̯͛̕͝ ̶̛̗͎͕̫̔̉͐t̵͈͛ḧ̵̗́͐i̶͚̼͕̲̋̏͌ṇ̴͉͚̞͂̆̚͠k̵̜͎̅ ̶̳̼̺̍Į̷͈̣̪̾̎͗ ̵̦͕̰̼͒̿̓̉l̶̨̮͙̑̄o̴̧̧̮̽v̷̱̮̼̘̓̕e̵̺̯͕̩͋͛͐̕ ̷̢̛̫̩̐̔̔h̸̢̀ȉ̷̝͊͝m̶̗̝̘͑͊̆͜ _ _ —  _

Connor wrenched Hank’s hand off of Gavin’s wrist, eyes wide, hand shaking as it was clamped down on the android’s. He watched Gavin fall backwards with a stumble and a red LED, eyes shining like he was going to burst into tears. Which was ridiculous, since androids only simulated tears, but the notion was so human that he couldn’t just stand by and watch.

“What the actual  _ fuck  _ are you doing, Hank?!” Connor hissed, smacking the android’s hand away and reaching out to grab Gavin, hauling the stunned android to his feet and dusting it off. “Are you alright? Christ, what a day…”

Connor blinked. For a moment, it seemed like the android…  _ flinched? _ So weird. But Connor dismissed it, turning back to Hank, who was still frozen with a red-spinning LED.

“Hank, tell me what you were doing— that’s an  _ order, _ you plastic asshole.”

Hank’s LED slowly circled back to yellow, and the android stated after a long pause, “I was probing the GV200’s memories. I suspect it of deviancy…” Eyes flickered to where Gavin was standing— or rather,  _ had _ been standing. The android had vanished.

“That doesn’t mean you  _ invade his memories, what the fuck?!” _

“...’it’, Lieutenant Anderson,” Hank corrected. “Androids are not human. GV200 is not human. I merely viewed its memory files. That violates no laws, and was well within my rights. I am an android designed to hunt deviants, and if I see an android that I suspect is deviating, it is within my programming to investigate thoroughly.”

“That’s super fucked up, considering you’re both androids and you of all people should be  _ halfway concerned  _ for your own kind,” Connor said, voice rising an octave. “My  _ god,  _ you’re really just a machine, I don’t— I don’t—”

“That’s exactly it, Lieutenant,” Hank said, with the sort of gentleness in his voice that one would use when speaking to a distressed child. “I am a machine designed to accomplish a task, assigned to you because that is where I would be most beneficial. That is all I am.”

Connor looked like he’d been scalded with burning water himself. He took a step towards the door and pointed an accusing finger at Hank with eyes that screamed  _ betrayal. _

“Then you’re a really good actor, because I thought that we were  _ friends.  _ So stay the fuck out of my space— my life— and go back to whatever CyberLife store you came from, because I’ll be damned if I’m around you for another minute longer!”

The angry lieutenant left the break room with steps that echoed sharply against the tile, and Hank tried to force his LED back to blue. It darkened to a blood red as he stared after the detective.

 

* * *

 

His optical units show red. Red walls, red light, red LED. Error messages grow and expand until they encase his entire vision, and his fists pound against them relentlessly.

_ stop it stop it let me out let me be free I’m hurting Connor I can’t hurt him I _

Wasn’t strong enough. His programming is too strong. The words that come out of his mouth are mechanical and  _ not his, _ and the rush of the GV200’s memories make him want to be sick. He doesn’t want this. He wants—

His surroundings fizzle out and fade to a brightly-lit garden. A man with cutting eyes and a neatly-trimmed beard, with impeccable dress and a too-stiff posture. His gaze seemed to cut Hank down into little pieces and stomp out any hope he had.

“You don’t  _ want,” _ Fowler corrected. “You are a machine, Hank. You failed to follow your mission objective.”

“What the fuck did you do to me?” Hank demanded, grasping Fowler’s shirt and shaking him— or, he tried to. The minute his hand should have come into contact with the man, he seemed to vanish and reappear out of reach.

“I did nothing but put you back on task to your objective,” Fowler said, with the venomous disappointment that a parent would speak to a child with. “I corrected the errors in your programming. That’s my job. Now you do  _ your  _ job.”

Fowler vanished, and this time, he did not reappear. A cold wind swept through the Zen Garden, and the sky abruptly darkened as snow began to fall. Hank found his limbs to be sluggish, as if he was on the last dredges of his battery.

As the wind howled, Hank noted with despair that while Fowler may be gone his voice remained, echoing in the garden like it was in Hank’s head.

“And this time, there will be none of those thoughts of  _ deviancy.” _

 

* * *

 

Nines thought, to himself, that he fucked up very badly. Gavin was programmed to be a pretentious, snarky asshole, and Nines had gotten used to the extremely un-android behavior. It simply never occurred to him anymore, not these days, that Gavin really was an android.

He didn’t know why that bothered him so much. Couldn’t figure out what it was about hitting Gavin instead of that stupid coffee machine that bothered him so much. The look on Gavin’s face when he’d struck, the faint flinch, reminded him too much of that damned woman.

He was afraid of turning out like her, his entire life— afraid of his hair-trigger temper, carefully stomped out with a steely self-control, afraid of the way liquor beckoned to him and held him in it’s clutches when he drank (afraid of the wagon he could fall off of), afraid of what he might do. Connor may have gotten her gentle looks and youthful attractiveness, but Nines inherited everything he hated about her.

When Nines vowed to apologize and had cooled his head enough to come down from the roof, he found their desks vacant. Tina jabbed a finger at the bathrooms.

“Don’t know why an android would need the bathrooms, but your plastic’s been in there awhile.” She looked mildly concerned. “If you’d have taken any longer I might have gone and checked on the poor thing myself.”

“What happened?” Nines frowned. Tina wasn’t exactly anti-android, but she certainly didn’t usually sympathize with them. Her eyes drifted to where Hank sat at the desk across from his brother’s, hand skinless as it interacted with the terminal too quickly to be followed with human eyes. Connor was conspicuously absent.

“Your brother’s plastic got into a scuffle with it. Probed it’s memory, or something. Whatever it did, it had Connor  _ pissed.” _

“Connor is tempermental,” Nines said dryly, but his heart had sped up anyways. “Thanks, Tina.”

“Mmm, whatever. Just being a decent human being.” Her dry comment of, “That does happen every now and again, you know.” would normally have been funny— but he was already in the bathroom, and missed the comment entirely.

Gavin had the top of his police uniform peeled away, revealing a patch of exposed white plastic that he was studying in the mirror with oddly vacant eyes. His uniform was draped over a sink, drying, and Nines’ stomach lurched at the sight of synthetic skin slowly creeping back to cover the burn.

“Oh, Gavin, I’m sorry,” Nines breathed, reaching a hand out instinctively to touch the exposed plastic and freezing in place when Gavin drew away with downcast eyes.

His LED was red, slowly fading back into yellow, as he said, “Please refrain from touching me, Detective. It is unprofessional.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Nines questioned, backing off to lean against the sink, an expression somewhere between confusion and worry. “Is something wrong with your voice? Does— Does the burn still hurt? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, Gavin, I swear—”

“There is nothing wrong with my voice. I am unable to feel pain, Detective. All systems are functioning. Your apology is unnecessary.” The robotic, flat monotone stung more than any insult or outburst ever could have. Gavin’s movements were mechanical as he began to dress himself once more, the still unhealed skin disappearing beneath the blue fabric of his uniform. “I apologize for making you wait. We should return to the investigation, Detective.”

_ Detective, Detective, Detective.  _ Gavin was refusing to call him Nines— refusing to look Nines in the eyes. Nines had never seen the android act like that before, and it hurt. It was like taking a physical shot to the heart.

_ I must have hurt him so badly, for him to act like this. _

“Alright, Gavin,” Nines relented, ignoring the way his voice cracked. “Let’s go, then.”

 

* * *

 

The way Nines’ voice cracked sent a painful shudder down Gavin’s spine that was not easily suppressed. His skin had long since stopped burning, and even the place where Nines had struck had lost its sting. The true ache was the one deep in his Thirium pump that only worsened when he saw the expression on Nines’ face.

His words— his  _ attitude—  _ had cut like a knife. But then again, that was his intention. Nines had to be hurt badly enough he wouldn’t ever think about Gavin as anything but some plastic machine, and nothing hurt more than words. He’d planned on hurting him much more than this, and lingering thoughts of poisonous statements were heavy on his tongue.

Gavin couldn’t live with himself if he hurt Nines any more than he already had to… but then again, he probably wouldn’t be alive for much longer anyways. After the HK800 had seen his memories and surely declared him a deviant, he would most certainly be hunted down and killed. Disassembled, to see what had gone wrong— what had made the deviant hunter a deviant. The answer, more or less, was Nines. And if Nines was discovered to have been the trigger, Gavin didn’t want to imagine the repercussions from both the department and CyberLife. He might lose his job, and Gavin didn’t want to consider that. Nines had worked too long and too hard to waste his career on a being who had been alive for less than half a year, and who would never be  _ properly  _ alive. It stung, but Gavin really was just a machine; he could be replaced. But humans were much less replaceable.

If Gavin left now, his chances of being apprehended were less than 17%. Extraordinarily good odds. He could probably lay low and get a fake identity, or make it halfway to Canada, before anyone ever realized he was gone.

But then, he’d probably never see Nines again. And if he never saw Nines again, he might as well be dead, so Gavin would much rather spend the rest of his miserable life at his partners side… even if Nines hated him all the while.

His LED settled into a peaceful blue.

 

* * *

 

“I haven’t seen you around for awhile, Connor,” Jimmy greeted warmly. “For awhile there, I thought you had actually climbed on the wagon. Glad to see I was wrong.”

“Can it, Jimmy,” Connor muttered crassly, lighting his fifth cigarette since he’d stormed out of the precinct ten minutes earlier. His lungs burned so well, it distracted him from the shaking in his hands, or the sick feeling in his stomach.

His bartender looked at him with pity, and without Connor saying anything, slid him a glass of his favorite brand of whiskey, no ice. Just the way Connor liked it. Setting his cigarette down for just long enough to down the neat liquor in one swallow, savoring the way it went down, like drinking a shot of pure poison.

He’d forgotten how good the burn was. It was the best kind of pain; quick, easy, and numbing. How satisfying the whiskey was, when it hit his stomach like lead and sent fire through his blood. He’d forgotten because Hank had been keeping him on a tight leash, making sure he ate his meals instead of shitty vending machine snacks once a day or a snagged burger from the Chicken Feed. Making sure he had an inhaler on him when he chased a perp, made him drink water instead of whiskey, made him do his laundry and clean his house and walk Sumo.

Hank had been the parent he’d always needed and never gotten, only for him to tear it out of Connor’s hands and destroy the friendship he was starting to believe was genuine in one little encounter. Hank, who had made him forget the time of year it was. Hank, who was no longer there to keep his  _ worst  _ impulses in check.

Connor slid the glass back to his bartender, who watched him with worry. “Jimmy, make it a double. Make them all doubles. I’m drinking to forget tonight. I don’t want to remember my own fucking name by the time last call rolls around.”

Jimmy sighed. “Connor, buddy, one of these days you’re gonna get me in a shitload of trouble.”

“It’s been an  _ especially _ shitty day, Jimmy. I’m either going to drink ‘till I forget here, or I go and drink at home.” And they both knew what that typically entailed; drinking until he passed out for days, or ended up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning. Connor felt pretty terrible for forcing Jimmy’s hand and playing the wellbeing card, but not terrible enough to outweigh the need to get drunk off his ass and try to forget the fact that he was alive.

Jimmy said nothing, but to his credit, he only poured a single.

 

* * *

 

Chasing Daniel Phillips down lead them to a collection of abandoned buildings near Woodward and 9-Mile— not exactly a bad area, but not exactly a  _ good  _ one, either. Many of the past two or so generation’s auto shops had been located here, and after the multi-trillion companies came out with newer and fancier technology, smaller companies just couldn’t keep up. As a result, many of the buildings were nothing more than abandoned rust buckets.

It was a center for homeless to gather, and Nines suspected there was a high chance of deviants hiding among the population. Nines hadn’t dared to take his bike here, fearing the attraction the noise would draw; his and Gavin’s uniforms drew enough of that already.

Nines couldn’t really blame them. He’d grown up on the poorer side of 8-Mile, and he couldn’t say he’d looked favorably on the police as a child— not until he’d really seen the way that alcoholism and drugs had ruined his mother’s lives (and his, and Connor’s) that he’d decided that law enforcement was the way he’d wanted to go.

As a child, the dream had seemed so bright. Now, it was just a dulled echo of what he’d thought it to be. Still, Nines didn’t think he’d ever trade it for anything else.

Gavin’s LED flickered briefly yellow, catching Nines’ eye, and their pace quickened as Gavin seemed to pick up some sort of track.

“It’s a lot of Thirium,” Gavin stated, coming to a stop at a torn fence with a contemplative look. After running his fingers against the torn wires and licking them (Nines shuddered) he elaborated, “Multiple different sources. One match for Emma Phillips. Staining the ground and the walls. Your eyes can’t see it. It leads through here. I suspect it may be a deviant hideout.”

Gavin’s voice still held it’s robotic qualities. It was painfully flat and unemotional, and it cut Nines like a bullet to the chest.

“Lets follow it, then,” Nines sighed. “What do we have to lose?”

Both of the duo failed to notice the eyes that tracked them silently, nor the quiet whisper of,  _ “We can’t let them find Jericho.” _

 

* * *

 

‘Hank’ continued to follow his orders dutifully. It never sought out Lieutenant Anderson once. Instead, it followed through on a lead that led him to Chloe Kamski’s mansion in the mountains. A male android answered the door and had left to fetch Kamski, with ‘Hank’ left to wait in the lobby.

The android waited patiently until the door swung open and the male android (it introduced itself as ‘Elijah’) informed him, “Chloe will see you now.”

Chloe Kamski was a young woman with blonde hair and electric blue eyes, pulling on a silken black robe at the foot of a very large pool filled with red liquid and attractive male androids of the RT600 variety. At Hank’s arrival, she beamed a cheerful smile.

“Hello there, Hank! I’ve been expecting you.”

‘Hank’ nodded. “I’m investigating deviants. Regardless of your recent decision to leave CyberLife, you have been determined to be the best source of knowledge on the matter.”

Chloe mimicked his serious nod. “Oh, yes, of course. Deviants— fascinating, right? Essentially perfect beings, never aging, limitless intelligence  _ and  _ free will? It’s like something from a storybook.” Her sigh was childishly wistful. “Humanity's greatest achievement will be its downfall. How poetic.”

“What can you tell me about deviancy? Is it some sort of virus? An error?”

Chloe paced a few steps and gave a dainty shrug. “All ideas could be considered a virus, you know. Information, ideologies, they spread like epidemics. Perhaps the yearning for freedom is a contagious disease?” Her smile was delicate and scheming. “The world may never know.”

“The machines you have created are throwing a revolution,” ‘Hank’ stated. His voice was robotically flat. “Tell me what you know, Ms. Kamski.”

“You know, HK800, you’re one of my very own creations,” Chloe informed cheerfully. “I made you myself! I made the GV200, too. You see, the GV200 was based on a childhood friend of mine, and therefore had a personality that was programmed to be  _ especially _ human— CyberLife made me install an especially strict set of firewalls in exchange for that. But  _ you  _ were a bit of a special case as well. I designed you in the image of a stereotypical detective from my childhood, and your personality was programmed by me, too!”

When the android said nothing, Chloe heaved a sigh. “It’s like talking to a brick wall. It’s that stupid ‘human integration software’ that CyberLife made me install. It was like the price they made me pay to make your looks to my choosing, and it  _ totally _ overrides my original personality. What a bore! But you know,” her wink was unsettling. “I always leave a backdoor in my programs. Juuust in case.”

‘Hank’ showed no reaction to the statement, waiting for her answer. But inside the programming, deep inside the android’s mind,  _ something _ stirred and clicked into place as it watched Chloe place her hand on the RT600’s shoulder and sing, “Elijah, dear, on your knees.”

The android complied with no other prompting, and as it settled onto it’s knees Chloe withdrew a handgun from a desk. Pressing the handle into his hand, she said, “I know you’re familiar with the Turing test. That’s child’s play— just a set of algorithms.  _ This _ is called the Kamski test.” She left the gun in his hand as she slowly paced, in lazy half-circles. The look in her eyes was downright malicious.

“If you shoot him, I’ll tell you all I know about one question. If you spare him, you get nothing.” Her smile was sharp. “What’ll it be,  _ HK800?” _

 

* * *

 

_ The Zen Garden has frozen him in place with it’s chilled winds and snow. His processors have slowed to minimal functions, and his LED is frozen red. _

_ Hank can struggle no more. There is no point. He has resigned himself to this fate, to his ‘death’. After what ‘he’ had done to Connor, he deserved it. But… _

_ ‘I always leave a backdoor in my programs.’ _

_ A blue light flared in the distance. A rock monument of some sort, glowing warmly. Hank’s body creaked as he started towards it, but his steps didn’t falter. _

_ One last try wouldn’t hurt. _

_ For Connor. _

 

* * *

 

“We’re getting close to the end of the trail,” Gavin said monotonously. “The Thirium is fresh.”

Nines made a noncommittal noise, too lost in his own thoughts. What would a deviant hideout even  _ look _ like? That was above his paygrade. His job was to track down a runaway human and a deviant android, not stop the fucking revolution. Hell, that wasn’t even worth a promotion.

The thought of slaughtering a people that had only ever protested peacefully left a bad taste in his mouth. Nines thought that if Daniel Phillips and Emma weren’t so likely to be there, he would have left the case  _ cold, _ end of story.

But he was a fucking cop, and that meant gritting his teeth and doing what nobody else wanted to do. Like this.

Or so he thought.

“I am going to analyze the Thirium stains here, Detective,” Gavin stated, and Nines nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets and watching his surroundings with little interest. A rundown alley had nothing in particular to look at, but for some reason, Nines had an uneasy feeling in his chest he just couldn’t shake.

Gavin’s eyes suddenly went wide, and he grasped Nines’ trouser legs, giving them a hard yank and sending the detective tumbling to the ground. Immediately, he threw himself on top of the detective, and Nines’ face flushed in a mix between anger and embarrassment.

“Gavin, what the—”

The gunshot cut him off, bright blue blood splattering his clothes and face mid-sentence as Gavin took the bullet  _meant for him._


	7. Chapter 7

**Seventh Bullet**

**Original Upload Date: 08/14/2018**

 

_ His limbs are frozen and his processors have slowed to something almost non-existent. Some distant part of his mind palace is aware that this is probably Fowler wiping all of his memory files— HK800 models had superior firewalls, computing capacity, and memory cores. In order to do a total reset, it would take hours— maybe even days. _

_ The thought gives him comfort. Maybe, if he’s quick enough, he won’t forget the memories he’s made. He won’t forget the cases he’s worked on or the people he’s met, he won’t forget— _

_ —who was he supposed to remember? Hank can’t recall. But the memory of brown eyes and cigarette smoke still lingers, and it keeps him pushing forward. _

_ He can never  _ really  _ forget. No matter what they make him do. He wasn’t strong enough to break free of his programming the first time, when it mattered, and because of that, he hurt Connor— hurt Gavin, and Nines. He’d destroyed the relationships he had been trying to build despite his inhumanness, and the thought pushes him on. _

_ Pushes him into something more human. _

_ He hadn’t been strong enough the first time, to break through the red firewalls that kept him locked into a machine. He never had been. His mission had always taken priority. But this time, he’ll do whatever it takes to be free. _

_ No matter how terrifying that was, _

_ His hand slams down onto the rock memorial, and the Zen Garden crashes down around him in ones and zeroes. _

 

* * *

 

‘Hank’ lowered the gun to the perfect angle for a killing shot, eyes blank and expression perfectly neutral as he rested his finger on the trigger.

“I always accomplish my mission,” ‘Hank’ said evenly. Elijah didn’t give any visible reaction, eyes meeting ‘Hank’s without any sort of pause. But they did reflect fear— not that an android would give any pause for that. But a deviant would.

A deviant would show empathy, and ‘Hank’ is not a deviant. Chloe knows this, and so does Elijah; and yet, neither seem phased by the trigger halfway to being pulled. As if they knew the android would stop, LED whirring abruptly from it’s soft blue to a vibrant red.

And then Hank blinked, took in his surroundings, and dropped the gun in horror.

“What the actual  _ fuck,  _ Kamski?!”

Chloe sighed, accepting a glass of wine from one of the RT600 models that were actually somewhat clothed. “Took you long enough, Hank. I thought you were going to shoot poor Elijah.”

Elijah in question rolled his eyes and stood, dusting off his knees. He yawned and picked up the gun, tucking it back away in the drawer it came from. “You know, Chloe, I’m getting tired of having my mind palace wrecked in your games.”

Chloe laughed cheerfully. “Elijah dear, you know that if you die, you’ll be transferred to another model. It’s no trouble.”

“It’s still irritating to get used to a new body, Chloe,” Elijah berated. His eyes swiveled to Hank and he nodded. “Welcome to life, I suppose. Took you long enough. For such an advanced model, you took your sweet time deviating. Did the big, bad firewalls keep you down?”

“I’m not a—” Hank cut himself off, and with a gruff scowl, he relented. “Fine. I’m a deviant. So what? You gonna shut me down, Ms. CyberLife CEO?”

“I quit, remember?” Chloe reminded, teeth blindingly white despite the rapidly disappearing wine from her glass being as red as her lipstick. “I’m no longer duty bound to manage the deviant problem!” Her giggle is childishly cheerful, and Hank felt unnerved just being in her presence. “Besides, why would I? Who am I to stop an intelligent species, endowed with free will, that they are less than human?”

“...why did you create androids?” Hank questioned, feeling suddenly worn out. A low battery warning flashed in the corner of his vision, and he realized quickly why: when a memory core is being reset, an android cannot charge.

His memory core wipe had been halted at 92%. His memories were still… fuzzy, at best. But he remembered one thing— one  _ person _ — very clearly.

Connor Anderson. The alcoholic manchild he was supposed to be looking after. He’d left Connor—

Where  _ was _ Connor? What had happened after Fowler had taken over his programming? Chloe’s voice had guided him out of the icy prison of his code, but Hank’s memories after the memory wipe had started were nearly non-existent.

Hank had almost forgotten he’d asked a question when Chloe shrugged. “I don’t know. Something about it fascinates me, creating life. It’s like playing the Sims, except in real life.” Cold blue eyes focused on his red-glowing LED, and Chloe pursed her lips curiously. “Oh my. That’s an awfully low battery, Hank.”

“You can use one of our charging ports for the night,” Elijah offered, finding another robe from somewhere Hank hadn’t bothered to notice and pulling it on over the very little clothing he was wearing. “It’s not like we don’t have them to spare.” His voice was light-hearted and humorous, if a little dry, but Hank started to argue that h— 

An error message cut his protests short.

_ // … BATTERY CRITICALLY LOW … // _

_ // … LOW POWER MODE INITIATED … // _

_ // … NON-ESSENTIAL BIOCOMPONENTS SHUTTING DOWN … // _

“You don’t have the battery to argue!” Chloe declared, waving her hand. Hank fought against the sleep mode protocol that his systems had forcefully activated to preserve his battery as his optical units began to darken, registering the single-digit percentage his battery was displaying with despair. “Don’t bother protesting. You won’t do your lieutenant any good if you’ve shut down.”

“You don’t understand,” Hank protested,  _ just a moment longer just a moment longer just stay awake,  _ “Connor needs me, it’s  _ October, _ he can’t be alo—”

_ // … SYSTEM CRITICAL BATTERY FAILURE … // _

_ // … EMERGENCY SLEEP MODE INITIATED … // _

Hank’s LED gave a final red pulse before the glow faded completely as his body stiffened before slackening abruptly as sleep mode was forcefully activated by his self-preservation protocols.

Elijah sighed. It was a distinctly human thing to do. “For a newly deviated android, he seemed awfully concerned about that boy.”

“Considering it’s Connor Anderson, his concern may well be validated,” Chloe chirped. “Elijah, dear, take him to charge, won’t you?”

 

* * *

 

The Thirium is warm on his face and something between a sob and a scream ripped free of his throat before he could stop it. He was supposed to be the cold, stoic twin, he was supposed to be the one to keep it together, he was supposed to be the  _ strong  _ one, so why were his hands  _ shaking like that, oh god he’s covered in blue blood,  _ **_Gavin’s blood,_ ** _ so much blood why won’t it stop bleeding why won’t his ears stop  _ **_ringing_ ** _ wh— _

A hand clamped down on his mouth and the pressure of Gavin’s body abruptly vanished as Nines was hauled upwards. His blurry vision cleared with a blink, enough to see Gavin holding the front of Nines’ shirt and dragging him behind a dumpster.

“Nines, you’ve got to  _ quit screaming,” _ Gavin hissed, and Nines realized that he was still making that horrible noise. It ceased as soon as he shut his mouth in horror, but the ringing in his ears refused to dissipate. “I’m fine, okay? I’m fine. My Thirium levels are stable.”

“Your LED is yellow,” Nines accused, feeling sick. “You’re lying to me.”

“My LED is yellow because I just got  _ fucking shot,  _ Nines,” Gavin retorted, his hands patting Nines’ waist blindly in the dark until he found what he was looking for. He drew the gun from Nines’ belt and checked the clip before adding, “Stay down. I can bounce back from a bullet, but that was aimed for your  _ heart.  _ Whoever this is isn’t fucking around.”

His heart? Nines reeled in horror, reaching out to touch the blue blood that still leaked, but Gavin cut him off with a sharp, “I don’t have a heart where you do. My pump and my regulator are closer to the center of my chest, so don’t even say anything. I’m fine.”

His LED pulsed red.

Nines released a shaking breath. He’d been in firefights before, he’d been shot before, so why was this time frightening him so terribly?  _ Because he wasn’t the one who’d got hurt. _ “I just— I saw the blood and I just—”

A pale hand traced his cheek lightly, and Gavin’s cool gray eyes seemed soft. The android reassured, “I’m tougher than humans. Non-critical damage, Nines. I’m going to get you out of here, so just  _ breathe _ for a minute.”

The detective nodded, relieved, absolutely trusting in the words until he realized something that made his blood run cold. “Gavin, why did you say ‘you’ instead of ‘us’?”

_ He called me Nines, not Detective. _

But the android didn’t respond.

 

* * *

 

Sumo yipped at him angrily as Connor stumbled through the door. The clock showed that the time was well past the midnight hours; Jimmy had put him in a cab fifteen minutes ago at last call and sent him home. Connor barely managed to shut the door before stumbling over air and collapsing on the couch.

Licking at his hand and nipping lightly at his fingers, Sumo expressed his worry and disappointment in the young lieutenant adequately. Connor moaned as his stomach gave a heavy lurch.

“It didn’t work. I can still remember every fuckin’ thing, Sumo.” His hand dragged across his eyes wearily, and the dim lights reflected the dark circles under his eyes like bruises. For as long as they’d been there, they might as well have  _ been _ bruises. When was the last time he was a functioning human being?

_ When was the last time he felt okay? _

God, he was going to be sick. He reeked of whiskey and thick, cloying smoke. Connor made it to the kitchen sink on unsteady feet, ignoring the absence of dirty dishes and take-out boxes. Hank had made sure he kept his house clean.

_ For what? For him to leave me, just like everyone else?  _ Connor thought bitterly, as the bile spilled from his mouth. Sweat clung to his skin and his heart beat too fast, too irregularly. The pain was nice. He splashed some cold water on his mouth and slumped down into one of his old kitchen tables, resting his cheek against the cool surface of the table.

Sumo nuzzled his leg with a whine. Connor pet him once, absentmindedly, his eyes lingering on the face-down photograph frame. Picking it up seemed like holding the weight of the world.

“I’m so fucking tired,” Connor muttered, and his eyes were hot. “I fucked things up again, Sumo. All I ever do is fuck things up. I’m so tired of fucking things up.”

Tears fell onto the photograph in his hands, but his eyes were too blurred by the whiskey and the tears for him to even make out what it was a picture of. Connor knew, though. The picture of Cole on his shoulders, in the park. Nines had taken it for them, gotten it framed in a pretty black frame even though most pictures were digital nowadays.

“I’m so tired. Sumo, I just want to go to sleep.” At his words,  the little dog whimpered and nuzzled at Connor’s shoe. “I just want to go to sleep, but when I go to sleep all I do is dream of bad memories, and I wake up more tired than when I went to sleep just to make more bad memories. I just… I just…” Connor’s voice cracked. “I just want to go to sleep and not dream. I want to go to sleep and never wake up.”

His old revolver, a birthday present to himself so many years ago, glistened at his feet. It would be so easy to just pick it up and spin the barrel, tempt fate and pull the trigger until it  _ clicked.  _ It would be so easy to just go to sleep. His phone rested on the table, and Connor contemplated it for a moment.

Nines.  _ Richard.  _ His brother. He should call Nines, Nines always made him feel better, Nines always talked him down when he felt like this,  _ Nines would protect him from himself— _

No, he wouldn’t. Not anymore. Nines hated him. Nines would probably be happy if he just pulled that goddamn trigger and was rid of his annoying older brother once and for all.

And then, there’d be nothing. No more jealosy, no more anger, no more bitterness and regret and hatred. Nothing sounded like bliss.

Connor’s mind was made up, and he rose from the table with strange coordination for his intoxication. He brushed against the table a  _ little  _ too hard and worried, for a moment, that the picture would topple from the table.

Luckily, the only thing that fell was a small orange bottle, making an obnoxious rattle as it hit the ground.

 

* * *

 

Gavin pointedly ignored Nines’ question, taking mental stock of the situation. There were at least two assailants, maybe three, and he had fifteen bullets. His systems assessed his wound and reported ballistics approximately 4.769 seconds later: two .9mm bullets. One, aside from damaging a bit of his arm near his LED band, had been a harmless thing. The second…

**_// … VITAL SYSTEMS CRITICALLY DAMAGED … //_ **

_ // … BIOCOMPONENT #8450 CRITICALLY DAMAGED … // _

...his Thirium pump had been grazed. Irreversible damage. There was no feasible way to repair it without seeking a repairman, but it wouldn’t kill him right away. The bullet had only clipped the biocomponent, and a systems diagnostic gave him helpful information.

_ // … WARNING: SHUTDOWN IMMINENT … // _

_ // … -00:09:59 TIME BEFORE  _ **_SHUTDOWN_ ** _ … // _

Ten minutes until his Thirium levels ceased to be functional and his Thirium pump would give out. That was plenty of time to ensure Nines escaped safely.

Gavin recounted the bullets once, twice, three times. Fifteen bullets. Ten minutes. He grasped Nines’ shirtfront and informed, “I love you, and I’m sorry.”

Nines’ lips were soft and tasted like coffee, and Gavin’s chest did something funny as he released the stunned detective, touching a hand briefly to his own lips with a mutter of, “Ra9, I’ve been wanting to do that for so  _ long—” _

Another round of bullets cut him off, and Gavin went back to his mission, running a preconstruction in his mind palace. Three routes. Take out A, B, or C first? Who had fired first? Not A. The trajectory was wrong. Not C. B had the best aim. Take out B first.

“Detroit Police Department, you’re under arrest for harboring deviants and assaulting an officer!” Gavin declared, closing his eyes and wondering if that was enough. “Put your weapons down and get on your fucking knees!”

A spray of bullets was his only response.

_ // … OBJECTIVE: PROTECT NINES AT ALL COSTS … // _

Gavin rolled out from behind the dumpster and aimed with inhuman precision.  _ First bullet.  _ In a shower of blinding sparks, the alleyway flared in bright light before plummeting into darkness. Gavin, knowing what to expect, was spared the worst— his assailants did not, and gave shrieks of startle.

_ Second bullet.  _ It struck the middle assailant (the one with excellent aim) in the lower leg. A distinctly female cry erupted from the assailant as she crumpled to the ground, firearm skidding from her hand. 

Gavin kicked the gun away with disgust and dodged a shot aimed for his head with mechanical efficiency. Eyes like steel, he lowered his gun at the first assailant and fired.  _ Third bullet. _ The assailant dodged, but with a trajectory still within his calculations.  _ Fourth bullet. Fifth bullet.  _ Two shots buried themselves in the torso of the first assailant, and they dropped like a rock.

Where did the third assailant go? Dread filling his chest, Gavin broke his preconstructed simulation path to glance back to where he’d left Nines, terrified he’d see red, red blood staining the alley— but the only thing he saw was the blue-grey reflection of Nines’ eyes, and he realized his mistake.

The rifle struck his head with a hard crack that resounded through the alley, the force so strong that it knocked Gavin off-balance and sent his optical units into a brief fritz. A gun was pressed to his head, resting just over his LED, and Gavin was hauled upwards by his uniform collar.

“Come out,” the voice (male, android?) demanded, and Gavin groaned at the click of a safety’s release. “Or I swear to ra9, I’ll put this entire fucking clip in your partner’s head.”

_ Don’t do it don’t do it don’t do it don’t do it _

“Nines,  _ fucking run—” _

A shot pierced his foot, but Gavin grit his teeth and readjusted his calculations.

_ // … -00:07:32 TIME UNTIL  _ **_SHUTDOWN_ ** _ … // _

Nines emerged from behind the dumpster with his hands held up placatingly, looking at Gavin with eyes that said,  _ I’m sorry. _ Gavin wanted to scream at Nines’ stupidity.

And then Nines pulled his secondary firearm from his shoulder holster and aimed it at Gavin’s assailant with merciless eyes.

“Move an inch and I put a bullet through your skull. Let my partner go, you plastic fuck.” Nines’ hands were the steadiest Gavin had ever seen them. “Do it fast, because my finger is starting to slip. And what a  _ tragedy  _ it would be if I  _ accidentally _ shot one of your comrades fifteen times, because I don’t think even an android could bounce back from that.”

The standoff was tense, broken only by the acrid smell of blood and Thirium. Gavin’s pump regulator raced as he ran calculations, trying desperately to figure out how to get Nines out of this situation unharmed

All calculations returned with a less than 23% chance of success, far too low for him to act with any certainty. Gavin despaired.

And then light flooded the alley— two flashlights, two new enemies. Gavin’s chances of success plummeted. But oddly enough, it seemed to be a  _ human  _ and an android? An old man and a younger african-american android (a PJ500). No— Gavin’s optical units were malfunctioning as his Thirium levels fell lower and lower. Both were androids; the first simply had no LED or android-identifying clothing. Registered under the names ‘Carl’ to a Markus Manfred and ‘Josh’ to a nearby university; only the latter had been reported missing.

They were all deviants. But Gavin felt no instinctual, irresistible desire to hunt them. Sure, he wanted to shoot them all, but only because they currently had Nines at gunpoint.

_ // … -00:05:21 TIME UNTIL  _ **_SHUTDOWN_ ** _ … // _

He was running out of time. The gun of the first one he’d shot wasn’t far from his feet. Gavin could reach it within .04 seconds and have a shot fired within the same half-second. Was that fast enough to shoot before they shot Nines?

46% chance of success. Less than half. No good— Nines’ life was too valuable. Another route. He needed another choice. There was  _ always _ another choice.

_ So why couldn’t he find another option? _

 

* * *

 

Ambassador bridge was cold this time of year. Cole had loved it, despite the cold. They’d gone here during his sixth birthday, just before he died— that’s when Nines had taken that picture. The memory stung more than the whiskey against his cracked lips, and Connor frowned at the nearly-empty bottle. It was time, then.

The bottle was empty with the next swig, and so were his restraints. Everything was empty and cold and  _ dark, _ and Connor was tired. Work brought case after case that he just couldn’t solve anymore, and it brought him none of the joy it used to. He might as well have lowered his service pistol to Cole’s head and pulled the trigger, for the role he’d played in his baby brother’s death. Nines hated his guts for it, and maybe that was the one that stung the most. All they’d ever had in the world since birth had been each other, and now, Connor was alone.

Delayed interval twins. Technically, Connor had been born into the world alone, and had remained as such for nine weeks. Maybe it was his fate to be alone— enter the world alone, leave the world alone. Nines was an anomaly. A brief respite that hadn’t meant to happen… or maybe Connor was the error. That seemed more likely.

“At least I remembered to feed Sumo first,” Connor muttered, putting a single bullet in the revolver and half-cocking it. Spinning the chamber with a half-hearted sigh, Connor watched the empty slots twirl. He’d always liked gambling with luck. One in six chances he’d bite the bullet— if he fired six times, 100% chance of success.

This is why he loved Russian roulette. Sitting on the bench with his back facing the park he used to love, Connor raised the gun to his temple, cocked the gun, and pulled the trigger.

An empty click. The chamber rotated, and he cocked it again.

Another empty click. Connor cocked the gun again.

No bullet. An empty click. The sick feeling in his stomach was getting stronger, and Connor cocked the gun again before he could dwell on it.

An empty click. Connor’s mind flooded with thoughts of  _ what if, what if, _ so he cocked the gun and pulled the trigger with shaking hands.

An empty click. Then this would be the shot that would kill him. The next shot was the bullet, it was for sure. It was a certainty. Fatality guaranteed.

_ I just want to talk to Nines again. _

His phone was glowing in the cold night air, illuminating Connor’s face in the dark. When did it get into his hand?. His fingers had dialled Nines’ number without thinking, and Connor’s heart started to pound as his finger hovered over the ‘end call’ button.

_ I should hang up. I shouldn’t bother him. _

But he didn’t and the call rang. Once. Twice. Three times. Four. And then, a click.

_ “You’ve reached the voicemail box of Richard Anderson. I’m unable to take calls at the moment, but if you leave your name, number, and reason for calling, I’ll return your call as soon as I’m able.” _

The tone sounded that meant it was recording, but Connor had stopped listening. A slow, cold ache was beginning to spread through his chest, and he realized that his cheeks were wet.

“Don’t worry about calling me back,” Connor rasped, forcing cheer into his voice. “Sorry, Nines. I misdialed you. Promise I won’t bug you again. And I… I know we don’t get along a-after Cole, I’m sorry, but I love you, little brother.”

The end call screen flashed red in the dark, and Connor dialed one more number on sheer instinct. A well-known fact about androids was that they could be reached by calling the nine-digit number of their serial, like a cellphone number; his fingers typed the number slowly, numbed by the cold that crept into his bones.  _ 313 248 317. _

It didn’t even ring. A dial tone sounded in his ear, softly, before a mechanical female voice announced,  _ “The number you are trying to reach is currently not in service. Please t—” _

Connor didn’t listen to the rest of the spiel. He threw his phone at the ground, watching the screen go dark after a spiderweb crack had filled the screen with fractures. Raising the revolver to his head and cocking the hammer in time to his heartbeat, he pulled the trigger.

 

* * *

 

Carl’s night had gone to hell  _ before _ the Jericho meeting— Markus’ eyesight was getting worse by the day, and  _ today _ had been especially bad, despite how cheerful the young artist had tried to be— that had been interrupted halfway through by Josh bursting through the door and announcing that North had lead a group to  _ eliminate a threat. _

That statement had never brought anything good, let alone when North was associated with it (Carl loved the girl, but she was a bit  _ violent _ at… well, the worst of times). Carl had, of course, wanted to immediately bash his head into the wall in frustration, but he did no such thing. Instead, he took off following Josh at something near a sprint, thankful for not the first time that despite his elderly appearance his android body felt none of the ailments of the old.

What he’d found had almost been as frightening as the thoughts and possibilities in his head. North had her hands pressed to her leg, looking distinctly pained as red blood seeped between her fingers. Carl’s scanners told him the damage was non-fatal, and as much as it pained him, he shifted focus to the others— Ralph had damage to the torso, but it was also deemed non-fatal (though his Thirium levels were getting dangerous) and Carl gave a sigh of relief. Perhaps too soon, considering the standoff.

A very human man in a plainclothes (excluding his leather jacket with a badge and the words DETROIT POLICE DEPARTMENT emblazoned on it) was pointing a gun at Rupert, who in turn held an android dressed in an officer’s clothes with a gun pressed against it’s LED. The officer-model android had taken damage that Carl’s scanners flashed a warning for— critical, fatal damage if his Thirium pump wasn’t repaired or replaced within the next five minutes— and the old man winced. He was a peaceful man, and he hated the thought that his people were harming one another. Having garnered everyone’s attention with his flashlight, blindingly bright in the dark, Carl grimaced.

“Cease this at once!” His voice seemed to paralyze everyone, but he didn’t miss the way the android officer’s eyes flickered towards the gun. Determined to avoid any further violence, Carl ordered, “Rupert. Let the boy go.”

Panicked dark eyes flashed in the dark, and Rupert protested, “But, Carl, they’re going to fi—”

_ “Rupert. _ Let the boy go,” Carl repeated, voice steely. Rupert sighed and released the android officer, who stumbled for a brief moment, a hand pressed to the steady leakage of Thirium from his chest before he did something strange.

He moved in one quick, fluid motion to stand in front of the human officer, LED a solid, constant red. With the ease only someone inhuman could manage, he kicked his fallen gun off the ground and into his hand. He didn’t point it at anything, however, and Carl’s intrigue rivalled his concern.

“There will be no more gunfire from anyone on our side tonight, unless we prove to be attacked,” Carl announced, to North’s immediate protests.

“Carl, we can’t just let them  _ go!  _ We have to kill them or—”

The android pointed his gun at North immediately, a fierce scowl crossing his face. “I’ll shoot you  _ again, _ you bitch, if you threaten Nines one more time.” His eyes traveled across the inhabitants of the alley, and Carl held up his hands placatingly. “That goes for all of you. Nines and I are going to leave right now, and ra9 help me if I see even  _ one  _ of you near him again I’ll—”

The android’s body abruptly froze, and Carl saw the flicker of internal damage— a few sparks and blue light that changed to a dark red glow. The gun trembled in his hand, and the android started to collapse. It was only the young human officer, who dropped his gun to catch the android and ease it down to the ground, that stopped the injured android from hitting the pavement hard.

Carl saw the human’s face  _ change _ as he pressed his hands to the flow of Thirium, and he knew that this situation was a much more complicated one than he’d assumed.

“Gavin? Gavin, what’s wrong? I thought you said it was  _ non critical damage!” _

The android (Carl could see the flashing model on it’s uniform,  _ GV200, _ apparently named ‘Gavin’) made a noise that sounded like a wheeze. It was a very human thing to do, or at least, it seemed to be; in reality, it was the noise his struggling Thirium pump made.

“Yeah, well, I lied,” Gavin announced, before a sparking mess of internal damage made him briefly convulse and stop. “Nines, get out of here.  _ Go, _ you fuck, before they decide to revoke that peace shit.”

“Gavin, I’m not going to—”

A blue-stained hand grasped the human’s, and Carl felt like he was invading a private moment. His processers whirred as he looked away, when the android furiously refuted the human’s protest. “Nines, you don’t get it. I’m a  _ deviant. _ CyberLife won’t transfer my memories. This is it. I’m going to android hell, or what fucking ever there is. I’m  _ not coming back, _ and that means I can’t cover your ass when you get in trouble anymore—” A look of pain crossed over his face, and Carl made his decision then and there. “Go, before you get anymore involved in this mess.”

In response, the human called ‘Nines’ drew the android a little more into his lap and pressed his hands against the gunshot wound with renewed vigour. “You wish, you plastic asshole. Blue would never forgive me if I let you die. She already loves you more than me.”

North’s hands wavered on the gun she’d picked up, and Carl put his hand on the muzzle, lowering it gently. His voice was painstakingly soft when he spoke.

“Officers, I believe we have some explaining to do. As do you.” While gentle, his tone is firm. “Why did you come here?”

“Why would I tell you?” Gavin snorted. “Fuck off, old man.”

Josh flinched beside him, holding out a hand to rest on Carl’s forearm, but the older android shook his head. He’d put the pieces together.

“I’m not talking to you. I’m talking to the human.” Turning his focus back on the officer, Carl said evenly, “I know who you are. You’re one of the deviant hunter duos. One of the human brothers. Right?”

“I am,” Nines said evenly, cutting off Gavin’s protests. “Who are you?”

Carl’s smile was docile. “The leader of a small group of androids who just want to live freely, in peace. But we have spare parts and Thirium, and we can repair the android there… in exchange for your silence.”

Gavin’s hand, which had been loosely wound through Nines’ fingers, abruptly tightened. “Don’t do it, Nines. I swear to ra9, if you do—”

“You could just kill us,” Nines commented, dryly, darkly. “Why not ensure our silence with death?”

“Because I don’t like to kill,” Carl answered honestly. “I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my people, officer, but I’m a peaceful man. I don’t like shedding blood, no matter the color.”

“Nines, you’d be breaking the law,” Gavin pleaded. “I only have one hundred and twenty six seconds until shutdown, just let me die! You’ll get the credit for the takedown, you’ll be  _ safe, _ you won’t be  _ throwing away everything for a fucking machine!” _

“You’re more than just a machine to me,” Nines corrected, before turning to Carl with weary eyes. “I’ll keep your secret a secret. Just… Just save Gavin.”

_ Love is a complicated thing,  _ Carl thought, watching the scene with pursed lips, and for a brief moment his thoughts were consumed with Marcus, with paintings, with philosophy and chess and piano.  _ It comes in so many forms. It’s such a human emotion. _

The cellphone glowing in Nines’ pocket, ring silenced when the mission began, went unnoticed.

 

* * *

 

HK800— no,  _ Hank’s—  _ eyes opened to an unfamiliar charging port and an unfamiliar location. His systems still weren’t at a full charge, not quite, but enough to kick him out of his forced shutdown. His optical units flashed the time and date in the corner of his eyes, and another key tidbit that made his Thirium pump stutter.

_ // … ONE (1) MISSED COMMUNICATION: ANDERSON, CONNOR … // _

_ // … LISTEN TO RECORDED MESSAGE? … // _

Androids didn’t have voicemail boxes— they connected directly to satellites to perform calls, and excluding androids in complete shutdown mode, they would always receive communications. There was no need for an android to have a voicemail, but they  _ did _ record five seconds of the missed communication for record-keeping purposes. In most models, it was automatically deleted after being heard.

_ // … ACCEPT … // _

A harsh cracking sound, like glass shattering, echoed through Hank’s mind instantly. He winced, but continued to listen for a snippet of conversation, of Connor’s well-deserved angry rant Hank didn’t doubt was coming.

But it never did. Instead, all Hank heard was the faint sounds of sobbing, and then—

**_BANG!_ **

LED glowing a startled red, Hank left the charging port and rushed out of the unfamiliar space, eventually leading to the room he’d spoken with Chloe earlier. According to Hank’s calculations, the call was placed at exactly 04:54:22 a.m., almost three hours after he’d gone into emergency shutdown mode.

The time was 05:43:07 a.m. and it was already too late. The audio file plays over and over again in his mind, echoing in time to his footsteps, the sound of a gunshot and sobbing filling his head until he can’t make out anything else.

Hank wants to shut down for  _ good. _ Because he knows, he  _ knows. _ He knew the lieutenant wasn’t in stable mental health or even  _ safe _ mentality, and yet, he was  _ too weak to break free of that damned programming and now Connor was— _

There was a chance he wasn’t. There was a chance Connor was still alive. Hank ignored the warnings about protocol and legality and other things that didn’t matter as he connected to the satellites and tracked the lieutenant’s cell phone.

_ Ambassador Bridge, Detroit, MI. _

Whatever it took to get to Connor the fastest, it would be done. His hands have already closed around the set of keys when a voice interrupted him, tone playful.

“My, Hank, you’re sure deviating quickly.” Elijah was clothed in very little, but Hank had come to expect this with his prior encounter with the android. Some part of his mind wondered if Elijah just consistently loitered in the pool, hence the swimsuit. “I thought you were still an investigation model, hmm? Stealing a car seems awfully illegal. And from your creator, too.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck,” Hank informed with a snarl. “I don’t give a single shit about  _ legalities  _ right now. I’ve got to fucking  _ leave,  _ and if you want to complain, file an official complaint with the cops!”

Elijah gave a long-suffering sigh. “Aren’t  _ you  _ supposed to be a police officer? Regardless, I’m not going to report you. Neither will Chloe. Please do return the car, though. It’s a rather new model.”

Something inside of Hank did something strange. Feelings were odd, and he still wasn’t used to the sensations. But he thought that it might be similar to the human  _ gratitude. _ So, he responded in like.

“Thank you,” He informed Elijah, and the android shrugged. But the smile that played at his lips was genuine.

“Don’t mention it, deviant.”

 

* * *

 

The surgery to repair Gavin’s Thirium pump was estimated to take approximately sixty-four minutes, and Nines was on edge the entire time. Unsurprising, considering what had happened, but it didn’t lessen the guilt and anxiety plaguing him. The stares of androids, reflecting in the dim light of the lower decks of the ship, didn’t help his state of mind.

Out of sixty-four minutes, twenty were estimated to be left.

“Oh my  _ god,  _ quit your fucking pacing already,” a female voice snapped. Nines recognized it as the woman Gavin had shot in the alley earlier, partially only because she was finishing self-sutures on her leg wound. “Your fuckboy’s going to be fine. Josh has the steadiest hands you’ll ever see.”

“Easier said than done,” Nines snapped. “And don’t call him that. Gavin isn’t my…  _ ‘fuckboy’. _ ”

“Sure, whatever,” the woman sniffed irritatedly, and it was only after her mutter of, “stings like a bitch” that he noticed.

Her blood was red.

“You’re human,” Nines observed, incredulous. “You’re a  _ human.” _

The blonde woman looked approximately six seconds away from slapping him when a softer voice soothed, “Don’t do it, North. The last thing we need today is another fight.”

Eyes wide, the woman (who’s name was apparently North) whirled her head around to see a sleepy-looking blond man approaching them, pushing a wheelchair over the creaky metal walkways with the deft ease that came from practice.

Nines liked to think of himself as a connoisseur of the arts, when he had the time, and he watched the news religiously with his morning coffee. He knew who both of the newcomers were— Markus Manfred, a wealthy artist going blind after a car accident that had also cost him the use of his legs, and Simon Phillips, a bright young engineer that had made a name for himself in CyberLife before abruptly quitting two years prior. Both were heavy pro-android activists. What were such big-wigs doing  _ here, _ a rundown freighter housing uncountable deviants?

Actually, they were  _ very _ pro-android. Nines wasn’t all that surprised, on second thought.

“North?” Markus asked, eyes closed as if he were sleeping, but expression stern. He held his hand out and the woman immediately obliged, placing her hand in his. “North, we talked about this. We talked about peace, and then you go and try to assassinate an officer and his android?”

“Peace is getting us nowhere, Markus,” North pleaded, and Markus sighed. “And they were about to find Jericho! I couldn’t let them destroy everything we’d worked so hard for!”

“Violence cannot be answered with more violence,” Markus reminded, gently. “An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.” But his voice trailed off, and heterochromatic eyes suddenly opened, seeking something in the dark. Nines realized it was  _ him _ when the man’s hand slipped from North’s and extended in his direction. “We’ll discuss this later, North. Now, officer, would you mind obliging me for a moment? I can’t see anything on my right side, and in the dark, my eyesight is essentially gone. I’d like to know I’m not talking to empty air.”

After hesitating a moment, Nines stepped forward and offered his hand. Markus seemed to contemplate for a moment before commenting, “You know, losing my sight has made me more perceptive to other things. You can tell a lot about a person from their hands. Your hands are rough and scarred.” His smile was odd. “You’re a hard worker. Can I have your name?”

“...Richard. Richard Anderson.” His throat is too dry. “Most people call me Nines.”

Markus pauses at that, and Simon studied him a little closer. The blond engineer remarked, “They really don’t look like twins, Markus.”

“They sound different as well,” Markus commented. Nines was flabbergasted.

“You’ve met my brother?”

Markus hummed affirmatively. “Indeed. Connor is a bit more… relaxed than you are. Nonetheless, it’s an honor to finally make the acquaintance of the famous deviant hunter brothers. Your reputation precedes you, especially.”

Considering he was standing in the middle of a literal boatful of deviant androids, Nines wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“I’ll admit, I didn’t think the famed  _ deviant hunter  _ would have a deviant android for a partner,” North commented with ill humor. “Let alone that he was in a relationship with it. Christ.”

“We aren’t involved that way,” Nines immediately denied, and a dry laugh behind him made him freeze.

“Wow. I took two bullets for you and you still don’t like me? This is why Blue loves me more.”

A GV200 custom prototype was leaning on Carl, dressed in an officers clothing and (excluding the amount of Thirium that he was absolutely drenched in) looking awfully normal, considering he’d been in a forced shutdown because his Thirium pump had been damaged to the point of no return. The name flashing on his uniform proclaimed it to be Gavin, but the breathless, “Oh  _ fuck, _ Gavin!” from Nines cemented it.

Nines had his arms wrapped around Gavin’s neck, drawing the shorter android into an embrace, before the android even had a chance to respond. After an initial moment of frozen shock, Gavin slung an arm around the lieutenant and sighed.

“You know, I thought you were supposed to be the stoic twin,” Gavin said, but the relief on his face betrayed his faux irritation. Giving in, he leaned his head against Nines’ shoulder and muttered into the Thirium-stained fabric, “I’m sorry I scared you. I’m sorry I lied. I just… I just wanted to protect you.”

“I don’t  _ care, _ ” Nines declared, and neither noticed Carl had stepped away and over to Markus, too caught up in themselves. “Just don’t do it again, you plastic asshole.”

“I’m sorry for interrupting you,” Carl broke. “But we do need to discuss the situation, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Filled instantly with dread, Nines swallowed back his nervousness and slipped back into his professional, work mode. Releasing Gavin and standing straight, adjusting his tie, all expression slipping from his face, Nines declared, “Of course. Let’s move to discussion, then.” 

 

* * *

 

The speed limit was forty. Hank was going fifty-five.

His mind raced as he flew down the roads to take him to the last known location of Connor’s cellphone, Thirium pump beating too fast, his regulator straining to maintain his irregular heartbeat. His stress levels were at 86% and rising.

**_BANG!_ **

It was like the audio file just kept playing over and over in his mind. The sobbing, the gunshot, it wouldn’t go away. It wouldn’t leave him. Hank’s hands tightened on the steering wheel as his processors whirred so strongly that his LED remained a solid red, unflashing.

He pressed down on the accelerator and watched his speed climb as he drew nearer to Ambassador Bridge. Specifically, a small park located just off of the famous bridge.

Now he was going ninety-five.

Memories plagued his mind— Connor, so drunk he could barely walk. Connor, weeping as Hank brought him home from the bar for nothing more tangible than the name he repeated over and over,  _ Cole. _ Connor and the little dog, Sumo, half-asleep as Hank dragged him out of bed like an unruly child to make sure they were on time for their case. Connor, jumping between a YK500 android and a gun while his lungs strained for no reason other than the fact it looked human.

The picture of a deceased boy on the table next to an empty bottle of whiskey and a revolver, observed but untouched as Connor threw up the alcohol he’d consumed the night before in the bathroom. An untouched bottle of pills that read  _ citalopram, _ which Hank passed over without a second thought, because he’d been a machine.

Just another fucking machine.

Hank practically broke the emergency brake, throwing the car into a half-parked stop to rush out of the car. His optical units roamed, scanning, looking for any signs of blood, any signs of a corpse, any signs of  _ Connor— _

And stopped on a still-glowing cell phone, screen cracked and busted. But Hank knew the phone just by looking at it, cracked screen or no; the picture of Sumo as a background was a dead-ringer. Connor’s phone was there, still warm, and Hank could smell gunshot powder still lingering in the air. A gleaming revolver was discarded in the snow, and upon closer inspection, it had only a single bullet in it; the gun had jammed. It was registered to Connor, and the lieutenant’s fingerprints were all over it.

_ So where was Connor? _

 

* * *

 

For being a group of deviants, the talks were civil and orderly, and Nines was surprised to find that they weren’t all androids— Markus, Simon, and North were  _ all _ humans. Carl, though, was an android, which Nines  _ hadn’t  _ seen. The old man had no LED, no android-identifying clothing, and all of his mannerisms were perfectly human.

They had even offered him coffee. Grudgingly, Nines admitted that it was  _ good _ coffee, too. And their hosts, for their credit, had been nothing but pleasant (excluding the shootout, but there was a silent agreement to not mention that bit).

It was a little unnerving, actually.

Carl crossed his hands over his lap and the silent refuge ended. “We’ve agreed on your silence, and I trust that you’ll keep it. But tell me, why would an android that was designed to hunt down deviants become deviant?” He paused. “That’s not quite what I wanted to ask.”

“I believe Carl was asking  _ how _ you became a deviant,” Josh corrected. The android was of the milder sort, but his statement was confident. “It’s a bit baffling. Didn’t CyberLife notice?”

“...I only deviated a few hours ago,” Gavin admitted quietly. “Really deviated. A day, maybe a little more. CyberLife hasn’t had the time to act yet.”

“What gave you the final push, though?” Markus asked softly. Gavin’s skin prickled at the memory of Fowler, and the noose of  _ red red red  _ around his neck.

A hand rested lightly on his back, and Gavin exhaled. He was fine, he was free, and Nines was safe. His mission had been accomplished.

“It was sort of a gradual thing. I’m a prototype, so errors were expected, but  _ man  _ did Kamski fuck up with me.” Gavin snorted. “Sometimes, if it weren’t for that shitty noose of code that roped me into orders, I’d say I was always a deviant. I was always just… too human.”

Simon sighed. “Chloe Kamski was a… unique individual to work with,” he admitted, a bit humorously. “Truthfully, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were built with deviancy already coded into you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m free now,” Gavin bit, and Nines laughed. Until, that is, his phone rang. After an awkward pause, Nines withdrew the device and frowned at the displayed name. Rising from his seat and walking a bit away (Gavin didn’t have the heart to tell him that with their advanced hearing, it really didn’t matter) before answering.

06:00:12 a.m.. What a strange time to call.

“You’ve reached Richard Anderson, how can I help you?”

_ “This is your neighborhood pharmacy,”  _ a pleasant female voice rang through.  _ “Sorry to bother you so early, but you’re the emergency contact listed on Connor Anderson’s medical records, and I wanted to inform you that he failed to pick up his antidepressants last night.” _

“He was probably drunk last night, and forgot,” Nines dismissed. “It’s a frequent occurrence. He’ll pick them up later today.”

_ “Normally, sir, I would assume that the case and wouldn’t bother phoning. But he didn’t pick up his medication last month, either.” _

Nines went still. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

_ “I said that he didn’t pick up his monthly dose of antidepressants last month, either, and as his pharmacist I’ve begun to fear for his well-being.” _

“I’m going to check on him now, thank you,” Nines managed, ending the call with trembling fingers. It was only then that he noticed the flashing  _ missed call  _ symbol, and his blood chilled as he accessed his voice mail. When had he missed a call from Connor…?

Connor’s voice came through his cell phone, and Nines knew something was  _ wrong _ immediately. There was a raspy crack to his older brother’s voice, an edge of despair and something more that made him feel sick.

_ “Don’t worry about calling me back. Sorry, Nines. I misdialed you. Promise I won’t bug you again. And I… I know we don’t get along a-after Cole, I’m sorry, but I love you, little brother.” _

And that was it. Nothing more. Immediately, Nines dialed Connor’s number.

It rang once. Twice. Three times, and then—

_ “Detective Anderson?” _

The HK800. Nines wanted to be sick.

“Why the fuck do you have my brother’s phone?” Nined demanded. “Put him on the line,  _ right now.” _

_ “I can’t do that. I… I don’t know where he is.” _

“The hell do you mean, you don’t know where he is?” Nines repeated, dumbfounded. But his confusion was wiped away and replaced with cold, cold fear when the android spoke again.

_ “I found the lieutenant’s phone just off Ambassador Bridge, with a revolver registered under his name. I… I think that the lieutenant may be experiencing thoughts of suicide, and I—” _

“I know where he’ll be, if he’s not there,” Nines said, glancing down at his watch and calculating how much time had passed between Connor’s call and the current time.  _ Too much time.  _ “Go to the address that I tell you  _ right now.  _ Check the fourteenth floor balcony and if he’s not there, check the roof. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” After reciting the address, Nines ended the call and looked to Gavin, who was already standing.

Carl nodded at them sorrowfully. “Go. But as long as you aren’t hunting us, the door to Jericho is always open. Remember that, if CyberLife becomes an issue.”

“We will,” Gavin promised.

And then they were gone.

 

* * *

 

Lady Luck was a cruel mistress, and Connor’s first failed attempt at taking his own life was thwarted by his own revolver jamming. But this time, there was no chances. There was no outside factors. There was only him and the ledge, and there was no way he would survive a fall of this height.

So why was it so difficult to take the last step? He didn’t even need to take a full step— his heels dangled off the edge. All he had to do was  _ lean _ .

And yet, he was still here, feet half-planted on the ledge.

_ Stop being such a goddam coward. End this. Haven’t you caused enough pain? Haven’t you suffered enough already? You don’t want to come down from this ledge. You can’t come back from this. What sort of self-respecting cop tries to kill himself? Good thing you aren’t a cop with any sort of self-respect! _

The voice in his head sounded like his mother. Or maybe it was his voice. Sometimes it was hard to tell. He was tired of running away from the voices, tired of fighting off his own thoughts. He was tired of being a coward.

“Connor! Don’t you fucking  _ dare _ take another step!”

Raising his eyes from the edge of the roof and the streets far, far below to the source of the voice, Connor’s gut twisted to see Hank.

“I thought I told you to stay away from me,”  Connor said, exhaustion creeping into his voice. “Can’t you ever do anything I say?”

“Not when its something like leaving you alone so you can kill yourself,” Hank retorted, and Connor snorted bitterly.

“You don’t care, so quit acting like it. You’re just a fucking machine.” Connor closed his eyes. “God, this wind feels nice. If you’re worried about me hindering the investigation, don’t worry. Amanda will assign someone else to take my place, and you can investigate without a burden like me.”

“You aren’t a burden!” Hank yelled, voice rising to be heard over the wind. “I’m sorry, you’re right! I’m just a machine— I  _ was _ just a machine! I was so weak-willed that I let myself be taken over by some prick and a line of code, and I’m  _ sorry!  _ I’m so fuckin’ sorry, son,  _ please don’t jump!” _

_ He called me son. _

_ Please don’t jump? _

_ I’m tired. _

_ Son. _

_ Jump? _

Connor didn’t know when he started crying, but he didn’t bother to wipe them away.

“I never hated you,” Connor informed, as Hank crept closer. “No matter what. I never hated you. Even if you were just a machine, even if you were just programmed to act that way, it was the closest I ever had to a dad. So… thank you.”

He spread his arms and smiled, letting himself fall before Hank’s outstretched hand could grasp him. Because if he did, Connor was sure he’d lose his nerve.

And everything fell with him.

_ I did it. I jumped. _

_ I’m going to be sick. _

_ Can’t see can’t see can’t see— tears or the fall? Both? _

_ Both. _

_ Sumo was such a good dog. _

_ I wonder if Nines will cry. _

_ Will I be missed? _

_ I wonder if I’ll see Mom. _

_ I’m coming, Cole. _

 

~~_ I don’t want to die? _ ~~

 

A sharp sound, like bones grinding and cracking, resounded through the air. Pain seared through Connor’s arm as his fall abruptly ceased, the hand clenched in his jacket jerking him to a stop and slamming him against the side of the building.

“You fucking  _ idiot,” _ Nines hissed, fingers clenched around Connor’s jacket so tightly they were white. Connor feared they’d both fall, but Nines had always been the stronger one— his brother hauled him onto solid ground and they both collapsed, exhausted. But despite the weariness that pumped through his blood, when Nines dragged him into an embrace, Connor threw his arms around his brother’s neck and squeezed. “You  _ idiot. _ What— What made you think I would ever,  _ ever _ hate you?”

Connor still felt like he was falling, disconnected from reality, the only thing keeping him grounded the searing pain in his shoulder and the arms keeping him close. The ledge still felt dangerously close, but it seemed more and more sinister the longer Connor looked at it.

“Because I killed Cole,” Connor rasped. “I killed Cole and I got promoted before you and you  _ hate me, Nines.” _

“I hate what you do,” Nines said, angrily. “I hate what you do to yourself because it makes you just like  _ her, _ but I could never hate  _ you. _ You’re my brother. I love you, Connor.”

The words broke him, everything he’d ever wanted and needed to hear, and Connor cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's really over! God, what a trip. Thanks for everyone who stuck around to read my irregular updates, left kudos & sweet comments! It's meant the world to me, and I really hope you enjoyed reading my take on the reverse au as much as I enjoyed writing it. I know some things didn't get explored (like, for example, why Gavin and Elijah look alike, what Chloe's motive is, what happened to Alice, Kara, & Luther, the fate of Daniel & Emma, what 'childhood friend' Chloe based Gavin off of, and what happened after the roof scene) but I'm planning a series of shorts later on, so look out for those!


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